A decasyllabic poem.

A Perched Linchpin

Those surreal moments just before you turn out the light.

Photo by Akshay Paatil on Unsplash

… the way the bare light bulb shines
centered on a ceiling, cracked and gray.
Spidery lines expand to dark corners,
a messy web for capturing dreams.

… the way the bare light bulb protrudes,
like a tear from a downcast casing
an unnatural glass emanating brightly,
squints squeezing into wrinkles.

… the way the bare light bulb intrudes
audacious with sorrow that you aren’t near.
Possible tomorrows like a fog are
swallowed up in incandescent yellows.

… the way the bare light bulb persists,
even in darkness, the etched filament,
a perched linchpin for fretful sleep
launches my bunk into a spin.