976
writing blind again
(jetlag series)
I look for the slightest sign
it's always in the dark I look
blazes up here and about
wages of my travel sin
the dark is never quite right
never quite mine
but I have to have dreamt to here
I am a kind of annotation
cursive
on the horizontal
pillow struck
look for words among the monsters
look for mountains in the sea
am I still enough
over the page and away?
I find myself
in the clock free
stick to one story
take it around
this is the spinning world laid flat
a search of the clock
shows everything I have to remember
like an ending come
dark imperfect I go to
not dreaming
but with all dream stuff
until the journey comes
A terrific poem
ReplyDeleteah, a dream of air, beneath the hands...
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