lullaby
"what good is one's toil underneath the sun?"
that same indifferent sphere gave birth to the shadows
where we count the days off by headlines on the morning paper
Light pours through the transom
as wanton hearts run endlessly in sleepless labyrinthe memory
(a passing bus shakes the whole house exposing two feet at a foot board)
what awful dregs have tired so easily! what futile repetition and longing!
In seizures we might gain the true vision of all that is absolute & senseless
In a ceiling fan cadence
a pulsing mechanical presence
our bare arms prop up dull thoughts of how one sleeps through the night
with all the binging & purging, snoring awakening
some may never shake their demons
-seizures
that same indifferent sphere gave birth to the shadows
where we count the days off by headlines on the morning paper
Light pours through the transom
as wanton hearts run endlessly in sleepless labyrinthe memory
(a passing bus shakes the whole house exposing two feet at a foot board)
what awful dregs have tired so easily! what futile repetition and longing!
In seizures we might gain the true vision of all that is absolute & senseless
In a ceiling fan cadence
a pulsing mechanical presence
our bare arms prop up dull thoughts of how one sleeps through the night
with all the binging & purging, snoring awakening
some may never shake their demons
-seizures