sleep potions for feathered boys

the angels were playing crochet 
in the front lawn all night. 
everytime i'd close my eyes i'd hear
another wack or their tinsel laughter. 
stood on my bed & prayed it would become 
a life boat. orange with danger. instead
it became the shoulders of a ragged beast.
i told my imagination "no not now"
but the machine wouldn't stop.
greased motor. my heart is not solar-paneled. 
instead, it waits for the moon. craves 
persistent dark like towns where
at certain times of the year there is
no sun at all. blue-wild tumbling dark.
the sun self left to wander as if it were
a shadow. sometimes my hallucinations give me
new names. they'll say, "today you are
nothing but a birch tree" or 
"i'm going to call you daffodil."
i find a blossom under my tongue.
night grows an extra toe. i begin
to barter with the darkness. offering 
a piece of amethyst & a stray sock
in exchange for sleep. not just any sleep.
i want a sleep that turns me into a raven
or at least an angel. i yearn to be
less useful. sleep so thick it flatens
the old mountains & leaves only 
ancient roots. my eyes are paperweights.
door stops. i keep myself open,
for what i cannot be sure. the heart knows
what nothing else can. says, "awake awake awake."
neon letters whining just beneath skin.
i am making a potion though. a potion so strong
feathers will burst all across my body. 
down & flight feathers. ready for the longest
necklace of planets. for a sleep 
so thick it coats the world in glass. 

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