Insomnia's Arm

from by Alec Arnold



Up before dawn, insomnia’s arm is dragging you up out of your bed. A blue TV screen and jet black coffee, these days all the colors look dead. Every time the rain comes falling on your window, you know it won’t make nothing grow. There ain’t nothing here to tie your roots down into, and you tumble every time the wind blows.

Work feels the same day after day, and soon it might be year after year. The stories you tell from back then up until now are full of so much misery and soap opera tears. When I hear you laughing, it’s like a motorcycle engine that never starts but you still hear it try. “Ever-after” is such a joke to the abandoned. A new beginning sounds more divine.

Walking back home from a night at Bruno’s. (I wonder if you talk to yourself). Catholic guilt has got you tied up on stilts. Maybe no one told you that Jesus could/should/would/will help. Many times I’ve wanted just to say I love you but I don’t want you to think that I’m gay. I just know that it ain’t easy treading water when your heart is filled up with so much weight. Ever since you came back home from Arizona, these streets just don’t look the same. Nothing takes away the cracks from what’s been broken, but you’re always just a prayer from grace.


from Elephant Sightings, released June 20, 2010



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Alec Arnold Vancouver, British Columbia

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