Plain American Language

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

Friday, January 28, 2011

At Night, Owl's Eyes Reflect Most Everything, While Moons Pass Over (before this was "Concentration Camp")

Lately, I feel uninhabited--waking from dreams
in which I have been blinded by chemicals
pitted against stranger-adversaries
while a faceless, bloodied, ravenous onslaught powers toward me, a sudden wave
rushing, then, through my body
pushing it all back--waking dizzy--
waking later than I wanted to--slugging my hands through
the day--tea and lemon miracle,
ginger and quiet noises of fires,
the shifting of autumn, to walk and see reddened
oaks, then to fall away from the world
at night. When am I ever awake?

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