Poem 1624 v2
The past is wind beyond the sail Tomorrow, the sea not charted And today is the toll, Paid to the boat in every bucket bailed

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Poem 1624 v2
The past is wind beyond the sail Tomorrow, the sea not charted And today is the toll, Paid to the boat in every bucket bailed
Poem 1820
It is a low ache Like a foot, a knee Or a dry door hinge— You gotta get low to contend with it Lying in the dirt Squirming and flexing Really making yourself at home
Poem 1819
Head full of sky— High, wispy clouds Like far away fog, dimly glowing The sky is no longer dark But the sun has not yet risen I am counting stars from where I lay Before they fade into the day Before I finally fall asleep
Poem 1818
It is silent at night No crickets or birds Until, once more, I start to hear the roar of the sky— All the city’s noises Swept up into a torrent And carried by my bedroom window— A metropolitan tinnitus Easily mistaken for my conscience
Poem 1817
The river of time flows south and west Toward the setting sun Which has settled gently, like an egg To weigh heavily on my predilections— Though I live for the taste of morning light I am hungriest at the lips of night
Poem 1816
Soft sliver Second home of tender tongue— It isn’t what was said But where I said it
Poem 1815
Wild weather grows the roots— I am tendrils Unfolding like new green Around your aching arches Still soft from the storm
Poem 1814
I am bivouacked at the head of the bed— It is a good place to endure the rainy weather As I wait While the body of my ambition Remains to bury all the dead
Poem 1813
Fixated on my shadow Waiting for it to move— Stupefied with self-loathing
Poem 1812
I can feel each speck of sand Loose beneath my skin Spilled out from the hourglass Looking for the perfect place To become a pearl
Poem 1811
Alone in a room, The scariest place to be— Knowing no one will come through the door Until you are ready to leave it unlocked
Poem 1810
This wide-eyed stare A demon’s soft-spoken body language— I am teetering on the edge of the bed Awake, and work this guilt away? Or hush the shadows and hide my head?
Poem 1809
I am cursed with such good fortune To never have a reason to go to sleep
Poem 1808
By a hundred tiny increments I turn you tighter and tighter— Coiled like clockwork Waiting to exhale
Poem 1807
There are pests in the bed These bugbears of sleep Insinuating themselves into my history More doubts than memories
Poem 1806
I can feel moonlight on your skin Silver ink on snow-white paper Inviting me to a midnight showing Of the flower that never blooms
Poem 1805
Dew— Every morning I take a sip And rot