Turning In



I tell the child to simmer down, relax

Hoping the child is not me, so

The kid keeps me cooped up longer…..

Minutes confused in conundrum

Periods of time, bent, sealed, released

Sounds of breathing, sounds of morning

Birds, bottle collectors bent on deconstruction

Deposits of thought, dependent on clocks

I fight the surly rise and shine baby,

Held between brackets of sleep’s

Birth and a very, very, very long jog

Along outside sunrise and inside sunset


Inside, I see the child’s face, dark,

I’m arguing now. I’m an arguer..yes, yes

For night never smiles ….Or if it is smiling

No one would recognize its embouchure

And that’s hard to argue with

For the child’s smile is not one

That appears on lips, or gives the joke away

It’s a thought that fires in a daze

Held by my skull hiding between pillows

Keeping my brain in heat

Away from expressionless states

That forget limbs, love, and sometimes sadness


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