Tuesday, August 9, 2011


(postcard poem)

I never sleep 8 hours unless I’m ill;
wish I could but this spastic, medicated body
always needs to pee, to be repositioned...
The million miles per hour poet’s brain sometimes
rebukes descent into dream land, preferring to stay up crafting verses.

Six is my average, 4 my doable, anything less
and I’m a mountain lion (just ask my assistants).
Yesterday, I pulled barely three.

I pee twice, reposition once
play video games on my new phone.
Finally finish my challenge book,
although it doesn’t, as I hoped,
send me back to sleep.

At 8:07,
when morning assistant arrives
I opt to get out of bed…
hoping to return to it
until at least 10pm
and finally sleep.

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