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August 13, 2011

Sleepless nights

mind racing to catch flights

of thoughts that always snowball into more snow-

balls tumbling with stray strings

everthing is connected, loosely, I think

the strings sow patches on my brain

leaks – drip drip drip – but not all TV is bad!

Film is the new book and even I am

becoming archaic, but the verse is still pithy

I surf my brain-waves on the Wide Web on

sleepless nights:

what else results? Time and time again

“Time wasted!” they say, those naysayers!

(as they slave to their everywhere masters)

Surfing is nothing but fun cartography

and life should be fun, but isn’t

except when you’re young

until you decay into the grindstone

unless you can step aside and float

down a long and winding lazy river

but there are rapids and currents to that

grindstone and the ball and chain

an honest man or woman is hard to find

I know the future and it scares me out of –

sleep is the famous cousin of –

Death is always waiting until He’s here.

I cannot sleep but I’m weary and

poetry is therapy.


From → Poetry

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