Life’s so pale these days,
the minister of silence
is singing me to sleep.
There was a day when
he wheeled us down the roads
like a god.
Why is he singing me to sleep now
with words I cannot hear,
quietly humming until I
yawn and disappear.
I am not the one who’s dead,
and yet I lie there like a corpse
on a sheet white bed,
not resisting the low light tucking me in
through drawn down blinds.
He stands in the doorway
ready to leave, he’s gone after
asking me for answers for the questions
in his songs.
what happened to the colors
and who turned out the lights
why are you still sleeping
in the middle of the night?
1970’s
Words from Inside My Head 
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