Plain American Language

I cut a sliver/of WC William's finger
and placed it inside/my philosophy...

Tuesday, January 1, 2008

Travel (Poem #6)

The morning slips through the cracks
of sleep -- that's the normal molasses
of alarm, sunlight & prolonging
of sleep out of urban habit.
Morning comes
always as that splitting of waters,
and yet how dense & wide it is in the first few moments
like a heart beat or a close chest --
something warm like what dream'd been.

No comments: