the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Friday, February 25, 2011

Hours, M.D.

We run the week along the perforation
And break the leaking bonds of sleep.
To slip into my most comfortable clothes
Is to drag the words against year ears,
Tired sarcasm from brass lips
With only as much power and presence
As the hollow instrument that bellows.
Wake up and say hello,
Shake up the still, now seemingly dead
From the skepticism of an even spread.

No comments: