A Haze They Call Me

A stale viscous limbo you say I am nocturnal

but not predatory. At least

by intention.

But slick you say I am

on your hands and face slumping to the ground and lathering

     your hair for organic you say I am

exhaust that sticks to your lungs

and in between your toes just wipe me off

you can’t

   like sweat. Suffocating

not really I am you say more a stale limbo

       between suffocating

and refreshing.

But prey

by a nature I ignore

can’t.

Can I

be nocturnal not because I’m predatory or in limbo

but just because I’m dead

exhausted and want to fluff 

the grass and dirt beneath my feet

and kiss the sky goodnight

like any other sleepy haze might?