Sinkhole

Dreading dawn’s vertigo ache of first-wake light,
sound bite quietude a hushed interlude
as carnassials gnaw at gut.
 

Nausea burns constricted throat,
fingernails scrape at chalk dust entrails
of a dismantled reality.
 

Cotton-sheathed, saline-soaked wretch,
wracked and ruined, slinks back down
into caliginous midden.
 

Though light climbs agile through the blinds,
the damned diurnal will not dredge up
the dregs of fragmented flesh today.