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This Insomniac


Head between

two pillows, like Johnny

Jump-Ups pressed into Merriam-

Webster somewhere between poor

and prosperity so that all I can hear

is the flannel rubbing against my ear,

there’s no way I can sleep in any position

with so much still unwritten about 

the glory of basements, where,

with all the promise in crock pot boxes,

small animals go to die, piles of laundry hide

the machines, rusted tools fall

into other rusted tools giving way

to unsung sculpture, soiled playing cards

and unmatched socks strewn atop

a punched-out screen door make a shaggy

parquet; and a famished, leggy

fluorescent tube barely winks on the entire scene.

Going there is a kinder dread,

so fearing overnight alienation

from it’s grit, I barter sleep to keep me

out of dreams too random

for narrative, and nightmares

fit only for screams.

Unison 

                                                                              

What if there was an uncanny moment

when all the birds were grounded

from Cape Town to Juneau, and everywhere between— all feathers frozen in a universal stutter, so quick

as to make a snail of light, and even Stephen Hawking’s mind would miss it? And what if there was that one note no musician has ever found, not Mozart

in his fever, nor any Diva at the height

of song, not in all their hours of practice,

not in their weeping? In another poem,

some drunk will happen upon a ukulele,

pluck the note, quite by accident,

and pass out, never knowing he was

someone all along. But here, it is God’s

best kept secret, unsealed only at our dying,

when all birds from crow to lark, in homage

to our dive into the earth, stop their flying,

and wait for our wings

to join them.

Raising Poems

 

I feed you,

(research and imagination)

 

bathe you,

(editing)

 

hold you close

(feeling).

 

We sing together

(music)

 

follow rules,

(measure)

 

make tradition,

(rhythm)

 

memories,

(content)

 

and travel to new places

(images).

 

I lecture about the basics

(direct statement).

 

Sometimes we go without speaking--

(line breaks and white spaces)

 

but no matter where you are we are

always connected

(soul);

 

turn the page

(and we’re together again).

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