I Write Against Darkness

I write against darkness or I write / against the way that seems, in black, to wait to want to push us away / or against the day that has not come but will / or seems to will / and write against the dreams I must or may / and what I have or had / and write / and I write / and lose against the fight / and write against the sense that there is right / or loss or losing or losing will / and wont and want but won't / expunge the dark that rises up / or flows or falls or follows as it will / against the fallow furrow of my might that writes / as fingers of it write / against the sense of body as the soul / or soul as soul / and tread upon the pads of feet of this body as it pulls its own self forward into night / and all that night assumes we've lost / or last / and even if in sleeplessness I'm overtaken by the resting weight of night / I write / for words / with words / for words are all I have to write / or shapes of words against the sense of meant / with words to make the sense of night / or drain the sense right out / and sing / or sing with singing voice and tongue / with throat of singing voice and tongue / and make / against the boundaries of night / against the burden and the berth / against the ponderousness of night / and write to keep the world from breaking in the sense that it is as it always must never be / so I write / a word or words and writing as if right / and in a righted ship of words of state / as sleepless sleepy slouchy slovenly and slight / and almost always 'gainst the night / for I've no words in sunshine that I might / expend the energy to make for I am writing against the tuning orchestras of sleep / and keep / to making time with ways to write at night / to make the words appear as if on time / and stretched to make it seem that I just might / be one to make the worth of it auspicious or suspicious / and I just might / take the time to make the time to state / that I am one who writes against the night / but not because the night might cause me fright / or bury me in busyness of black but / just that night is something that takes from me my life / my waking woken fingers all untight / and tapping on the keys as if / and dancing on the keys as if / they could reverse the dominance of night that takes from us the waking working life / that wants us not to make against our time / in limitless limit as we know / to make the things we want out of our time / for we'd be sleeping them away / in dreaming that's forgotten once it is we wake / within our beds for warmth we sleep away / for I write and / writing / writhe against dominion that the night extends / and writhe against the thought that night will take me back to sleep and death / to that grave darkness that was our plight / before our birth could give us sight / and sometimes I think that I just might / win my furious pummelous fight / against the viral fields of night.