burning forehead poem

fever dreams
offer no rest
drowning in my
salt water pillow
i wince at
upside down images
projected upon the backs
of my eyelids
the cat keeps scratching at the bathroom door
the dog instinctively huddles closer
windows lose their will to remain open
featured players go missing
someone is eating the stars
the best that i can offer
is a burning forehead poem
and sketches made from
the wispy webs
of an orb weaver spider
who is the resident scribbler
atop my easel
and the
pervasive blackness
of no longer
weeping willow

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