Florida

- Poetry - 

Sleeping on a tile floor
   in Florida,
I am certain that a
   serpent
      will
         slither
            through
               the
            door
         as
      I
   seek
      to repose,
         and as I slumber
            their
         sibilance
      will
   slither
into my sleep  
   and
      into my sheets.
 
I am certain, too, that
   nothing will happen,
   but my anxiety will put a cramp in
   the already depleted
   sources of sleep I usually
         bank on.
I’ll go to sleep
   then wake
         then s
                  l
                   e
                    e
                     p
         then
                        w   a   k   e
   and s
            l
             e
              e
               p
   and toss and wonder
      what’s wrong with me
      and not if, but when, I will be eaten
      whether awake
               or asleep,
      so, I might as well reap
      some benefits from this
            existential
            evolutionary
            exacerbated awareness
            and learn to accept help
            when I need to rest.
 
I write poetry by
   headlamp and booze
   while I wait for serpents to peruse
   the spaces in which I sleep.
      But I also choose
      to stay awake
         and read
         and write
         and learn
         and fight an anxiety that would paralyze me
         as it switchbacks its serpentine body
         through my grey matter dunes and streams.
I use this phobic insomnia
   to pursue and absorb
   a thing indomitable,
   and I turn a waiting fear
      into a pregnant strength
      that I birth on the floor
      beside the snake
               and we commune,
               and partake,
               and go our separate ways.