Preparing eyes and ears for a day
is no small feat, no feat too small
for a firebrain, for the wireframe
whatsitgonnabe of whileIsleep.
Why else would the damn thing sing
anagram lovesong architecture
all night long?--kicking while I’m down
but not out, out but not out cold.
Why else’d the damn thing sing
if not to steel my stupid flesh
against the ugliness of calendar
sunshine? Could it be reporting
some bizarre subplot? Or
is it time for shuteye?
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1 comment:
I can't seperate whether this poem is simply the best of your newer ones, or if it is one of the better and it reminds me of my nights.
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