Roaming... Poem by RIC BASTASA

when the soul is blocked
there is a reason, could be that the soul has become too familiar
and as it insists, has become too unpleasant
for the body,

at 2: 30 in the morning the body is behaving like a dead man,
pretending, perhaps since there is still that
alcoholic breath, saliva sticking and
nostrils wriggling

a mosquito bite becomes too irrelevant,
a cockroach tumbles down on your hair and
laughs,

nothing is happening to life,
the soul and body at war, there is this room closed,
morning light seeking an entrance
to a night window
that is still magnetized to
dream.