When my left hand
goes completely numb

I fall into my bed
and lie there between sleep
and pain,

aware of 
a third in the bed with us

whose name is Fear.
Is this a stroke,
is this the end
of something, or the beginning

of the end? Fear
chatters on and on. 

I lie there among
states of being,
tingling and fretting,
and i
t’s not hope

that gets me back up later
but the discomfort
of how crowded

that bed’s become,

how noisy it is in here.

About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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