Praising the Paradox

IT IS THE NIGHT
That lets me down.

When the house seems unknown,

the body next to me unreachable.

Some sinister recess has commenced

and I must wait it out. Row my boat

hard against the arcing tide, keep my head,

pay the sandman twice. Welcome the nightly

oblivion that sees me through those no-good hours

between two and four when every failure rushes in—

every folly confirmed.

Big questions slated on the bathroom wall.

Harassing every dust mote for answers; what have I done?

Or worse, what haven’t I?

This stupor could have no future.

I am as flat and dumb as the kitchen floor.

As heedless as the doors.

As silent as the spoons

Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Schumann, Tina, author.

No matter what you start out with you always end up with so much less.