Dead Asleep

I’m glued to lone chair beneath spotlight,

dripping sweat,

and in they come from the wings—

the dead.

People and pets all long gone

now present,

so present

I feel them,

smell aftershave and perfume,

dog-fust and person-fugue.

Sweat tickles at collarbone.

Hug me?

I reach stiff, can't touch.

The dead are gilded statues.

Talk to me?

I strain ears, can't hear.

The dead hold silent vigil.

Me next?

Light my way to great unknown;

I'll come easy,

willing,

hop-skip-jumping,

relief so near

I can feel its

cool breeze soothing.

The dead smile small,

lock eyes that say

Go On With You.

Their lights fade.

I panic,

beg,

clutch at air

and damp sheets.

Don't leave.

Lungs ache as unsaid expands,

hurries heart,

squeezes stomach,

quells breath.

Sweat sets shivers,

teeth chatter,

bones rattle

me awake.

I’m here.

They're gone.

I'm alive.

They're dead.

Same as it was

before sleep took hold

but now the curtain rises

on a fresh act.