Residue

[Semicircle]

Nearing fulfillment
sleep abandons me
and the wish-like  a filament
burns out.
In the black sun of consciousness so               
too real flesh evaporates                            Too real flesh reads clunky and I stumbled on it a lot before I figured out what it meant.
leaving behind a fragile husk.                       A hollow
No use to grasp it,                                   Grasping
it will only crumble in my hand.       

The last line lacks the impact of the rest of the poem.


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awake
unfulfilled