Up in the Hungry Hour Not Hungry

from deep in the sleep-sack it rises
somewhere a choking a chime     undone
by such basic biology     we
fracture     frantic we are     fumbling
in the dark to lay our hands upon
what twisted pipe     what red throb inside
our son is breaking him to panic
song and gasping     face bright with breaking
off his breath     the torture note     he hits
and goes on hitting     fists like ducklings
against my work shirt     it is black     I
am yet unrecognizable     I
pull in what parts I can toward my core
a swaddle man     meeting pain with strength
as if that ever          in the thin night
of not sleep we sleep in     I have just
this gesture     if fed if clean if warm
but not too so     a simple creature
we tell ourselves we’ve made     so far our
simple creature inconsolable
by my sad velcro arms at least     my
milkless chest     I lurch to the wall     turn
sway back     carry him nowhere to dawn