Sleeping to the Letter M

Mark Bennion

1.

 

You hum in the routine of lying

down. Your mind rumbles in the murmur

of bass voices. You are the mumble

of innumerable bees. You count

 

mutton and lamb. Muscles twitch

then relax in an easy mathematics.

Slow tremor in Mozart’s

most famous adagio movements.

 

2.

 

Eye motion stops. Breath and heart

meld into one. Nothing magniloquent

or magnificent here. Memory consolidates

meanings as NREM musses your hair

 

near the dream and nightmare mountain.

Mimes welcome you

in your meanderings at its base.

Mutterings begin as you mull over a climb.

 

3.

 

Meanwhile blood pressure motors down.

Ancient Egyptians hand you medicine

to mend the previous day’s mishaps.

You’re almost mummified.

 

Moreover, your hormones minister

to membranes and marrow, mediating

between the mustache and molars,

the midbrain and medulla oblongata.

 

4.

 

In your dreams you’d like to muzzle

all the misfits, maniacs, and murderers.

Even the mawkish drive you mad

in their back-and-forth misgivings,

 

but you’re immobilized into immunity,

into the realm of visions and magicians,

matriarchs and martyrs—the marvelous mines

a balm and alarm you reach to comprehend.

Mark’s work has recently appeared or will appear in Aethlon, RHINO, U.S. Catholic Magazine, Wayfare, Whale Road Review, and other journals. His most recent collection is Ambrosia: Love Poems. Currently, his wife, Kristine, and Mark are trying to figure out how to parent two married daughters, two sons-in-law, and three teenagers.