Tuesday, May 31, 2005

last nights poetry, after reading DH Lawerence

I wait in a dying world.
What can a man do
while he waits in a dying world?
I wait in a dying world
with an armful of sleeping songbirds.


Go to sleep, child,
with a songbird in
the crook of your neck.
Sleep deep, with a purring songbird
folded against the tender skin
between throat & chin.

"Should I close my eyes
against the dark of the night?
Will it press its fingers down on me?
Will the darkness open up
and swallow me whole, even
if I am strong, and cling
to this song, feather & bone
in the sling of my throat?"

Go to sleep child,
and hold as you go, but
the world may break before you wake.
It is fragile;
thin as a new egg.

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