The Work of American Poet Igor Goldkind


We who are hiding in our second bedrooms,

Licking the silver from the backs of our screen,

Are living in a differently timed zone

Of insomniac awareness.

Sometimes 2, sometimes 3, sometimes 4 or more

Lives are lived and lost each night.

In our rooms, by ourselves

Sitting too close to the edge of our beds.


This is our legacy 

The lasting  perpetuity of our sensory species:

The glow that contests the light that once shone from our eyes,

Right up to the razor’s edge of our understanding of

What is not yet known.

The un-utterable.

What can barely be thought , much less said and

Yet still dances these words so merrily across this page.

In the ballet of silence that surrounds them.


Who are you reading this?

What perturbs your eternal sleep-walk into the night?

Are there questions you are pondering?

Or are you merely waiting for the screen to pull through for you?

Into your own quiet, private world,

Where  things that count never change.

And no one is dreaming you, but your mother

Who has left you now for another child.

© Alex Grey: Insomniac Awareness by Igor Goldkind

Pillow Thought

Who has left you now for another child.


3 responses

  1. Reblogged this on IS SHE AVAILABLE? Tales of Sedition and SUBVERSION and commented:

    A New poem revised.


    June 13, 2015 at 12:03 pm

  2. Addie Kaplan

    This poem is eery, troubled, a little scary, and a true statement of times and a consideration of how we relate or avoid doing so. It is an effective reminder of what most of us unconsciously avoid. Perhaps it will get some of us thinking about the very primal nature of our existence now dominated by a technology that allows us to leapfrog it and isolate ourselves or to delve further into our bonds with humans across the world. This is a cry for spiritual self-knowledge and human solidarity.


    April 15, 2015 at 3:20 pm

    • I appreciate your deeper perspective probing beneath the surface of the language of the words. They really can only point crudely towards what they signify. Like, “hey, look over there!”
      The tension between our language and our actual experience has always been symbiotic: We need language to lend our lives meaning but silence to live that meaning. Thanks for your comment.


      April 15, 2015 at 4:23 pm

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