The sleepless

Those days of dreams and dampness
—of symbols large enough to settle
—of insects pale-almost-translucent
with their fearsome mandibles.
They have their innards stolen; they toil
hard, my wakeful tenants, 
always carving away pieces within me
to stuff their hungry husks.
We fight all the time. I for what I am 
left with; they for the lack.

Dale Chou
2021-12-27