a poem for sleepA glass of warm white lily nectar triple distilled.a poem for sleep
A feather cool room where subtle shadows from a single red lamp surround the glow.
You'll find me slumping in a chair there, ladybug bodhisattvas licking
the dew from the corner of my lips.
A little ocean music swaying, maybe motzart or chopin something, a nocturne so my mind might find a constant star, and drift
over calm sound waves and dissolve like the wind into the clear light of sleep.
I still goto sit by the well on those brown grey autumn evenings when the flat white clouds wrinkle the rusty sky as the day goes down.I still go
to think about your siamese cat her oval amber eyes
like lamps in the orange light. how slowly she would slink into my lap to lick and lick my cheek until the blood scratched through.
to think about the empty bottle of Jack tipped over on the table, stuck on those spruce blue winter nights. how slowly we would slide
down on the wooden floor your head sinking in between my knees. &
tiny man made starsi wishedtiny man made stars
on christmas lights this evening still drooping from their wires like dew dropping off a leaf like bold blue stars draped
around the sycamore in the yard.
under the smokey violet sky when no other stars can shine or catch the wishes rising
in a swollen insence smoke up to god there's a constellation tangled in those trees. lightning bugs wrapped in spider webs of wire.
i wished on them from the back porch with the busted telescope, and hoped they wouldn't sputter out in the inky black
february air.
TongueLike a two year old tugging on the edge of his mothers' best blue dress everyTongue
day I stumble over syllable stones I cut every sound from the scratchy red qurry into rough russet words. Drawing up
thick wads of phlegm and green cigarette stink while paving every phrase
into place on the long
pitted road.
If i could i'd tie you down, sucking on ripe apricots careful to crush them
between the niches in the teeth, squelch them into sudden sweetness swell the mouth with the thick sun colored juice and push the pu
| a cantankerous young doodle |
authymn
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
--
"All art is quite useless."
-Oscar Wilde
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