i sleep with a pad of scrap paper and a pen under my pillow. sometimes i wake up with a line of poetry in my head and i like to write it down before i forget. sometimes that line becomes a whole poem. these are (mostly) unedited poems that i wrote half asleep.
[have a little faith in me]
dont underestimate
my movement
i will crawl into the
garden just to lay down
in the dirt
feel the ants
promenade
[the hour becomes fixed]
an hour is the golden retreat of
the grey herons fine head
through the open window
the winding of the engine
the birds the birds /
through the window
leaps the choir light footed
and wild
variations on the breath
like uneven stitches
my hand absorbs the rhythm
and we swing
[Baby Blue]
Baby Blue had his foot up on the dashboard
when he took my picture
I had been screaming all night as
we passed through Little Rock
now i was face down in the back seat
squirming like a fish
he drove flat footed and fast
like heavy
pressing forward into the sky
like a knife
his body was fever warm and
always getting hotter
i thought he would melt before
we reached Chicago