Thursday, March 24, 2016



It’s a good tired day when 
The words come flocking
Of their own accord 
As though curious to know 
Whether they might be said. 

I am tired now, good tired
Enough to weaken the borders 
And let in a drip of dream 
With every gallon of waking.

Yes, as any thing makes its opposite
Stronger and starker by proximity,
So the tincture of sleep in my daylight 
Gilds each moment and thing with
A taste of madness and revelry and sin.

Now I can hear running, barefoot I think,
I discern the hastening of those who,
Maybe moments ago, threw their clothes 
To land draped and skewered on a bush,
And then, wild in darkness,
Drunk and squealing cold,
Leapt into night water,
with the benediction of danger and fizz.

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