Tiredness
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.
