He found a small pulley system
to keep his eyes from closing
in the back of a magazine
(it was an old-fashioned mail-
away deal)

He attached them post-haste
and, as far as he could tell,
never slept again his whole
long life.

His teeth chatter sometimes
and he coughs a great deal,
enough to make his tight wight
skin on his neck stretch so
it might snap

He hears voices now, too
that he never heard before
(though there’s no proof
they weren’t there all along)
and that puts him off a bit.

But when he starts in to screaming
at the top of his lungs
at shadows in basements or
dark bricks walls, he dies.
Just a little.

He tried to take the pulleys off
but the ropes have come too tangled.

He can not cut them, either.
His scissors always seem to break.


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