sleep tight good night is when the world stops and the uni­verse is a box of cyan walls in­side which you will find me with fever in­tense and end­less and with my body hol­low and trans­par­ent and just a lit­tle can­dle­light for heart which is hard to see, ac­tu­ally, for all these in­can­des­cent bulbs un­nat­ural and nau­se­at­ing but nec­es­sary, in­dis­pens­able ac­tu­ally, these lights that burn my soul with their un­car­ing in­ten­sity they bind me they de­stroy me.

CLICK and even the cyan­box uni­verse stops and the si­lence starts; si­lence of the eyes and the shad­ows loom­ing and the shad­ows loom­ing and the shad­ows mov­ing about in the ab­solute dark­ness; these shad­ows, like rain­clouds, like whis­pered ques­tions, shad­ows of an old friend; these shad­ows like a tree in the for­est and the for­est un­whis­per­ing un­mov­ing planted firmly in the an­cient and ever­last­ing night.

this an­cient night that I have in­her­ited and that I have suf­fered like a fever all this time, is all I have yet I keep it at bay with the over­bright in­can­des­cent lights.

can’t sleep won’t sleep
nirav un­sleep­ing in this non-night

In the dark will it start?
the slow death the red dream
just the soul; nowhere;
content and wan­der­ing
in the dark for­est of the night

or will it start the thought­engine sput­ter­ing and smokevom­it­ing the ugly me­chan­i­cal and noisy dis­cor­dant ris­ing from the gut­ter truly an abom­i­na­tion this thought­engine; spew­ing and ooz­ing from rusted pipes leak­ing and smelly too and it just comes to be in the an­cient night the an­ces­tral night,

pris­tine, with fire­flies dec­o­rated,
pure, like the sound of a stream,
the silent night­for­est where 
my soul would be con­tent if not for the

un­wieldy and gi­nor­mous, in­fested with flies this thought­engine thought­mut­ter­ing thought­sput­ter­ing thick acid­like ill­words strung in illsen­tences and singing them ca­coph­o­nic in the lan­guage of sor­rows and fears; mak­ing sin of the sa­cred; lust­ful eyes froglegs the thought­engine looks at my soul and cor­rupts my be­ing.