Three Poems


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I have lost the art of falling asleep

Of slipping into vacuous pillows

And quicksand beds

The swaddle of nighttime

And the sweet milk of a deep sleep


I long to step into the hole

Of darkness

Terrific abandonment

And wake to the sound of day, but not morning

Skipping those wee hours with nothing to give


All I know now of is tired eyes

– Under-eyes like a sagging parachute

And sour lips

That whisper sleep to no avail



We scribble love letters

Into the book

We know by our fingertips

We search the pages for a sign, scribble our own

And replace the book back on the shelf

We are spies

Writing in the code that doesn’t look so much like love

It looks like names and greetings – graffiti on worn pages

But we know better



She is a woman of paradoxes

Knows the value of words

Yet uses them as battle axes


They cover the heart

Sweet and sticky; gummy candy

Then turn to ice

Icicles like knives


Her words are dangerous

Does she choose her words like gems?

Like ripe strawberries or pop rocks

That dance on the tongue

Or do they flow like waterfalls


She has a gift

For words
She will be successful

If she uses them for good means

But I cannot stay long enough

To see

If she survives her paradox

I will not be another trial

To see

If her ice can melt


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