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Thursday, April 5, 2018

Nightbooks


My memories of childhood are contagious
thoughts of other children aging
my autonomic childbody
by exposure to childmind’s
words consecutive pronouncements
in consecutive languages involuntary spurts
of growth within sickness cultures marked by joy
in other words, songs of older siblings
toward such murmurs I hurmured
on islands of immaculate babies
and exquisite their careful caretakers
designed to carefully teach them dirty nothing
your care abets mine in the direction of a poem
yesterday when conceptualizing a bear
I became too exhausted to write about it
the difference between silence and motion
and breath and sleep and joke and laughter
are the same, are a spent aphorism "prose is only poetry
a poet has forgotten yet to crack" I enter each future and its climate
reluctantly acclimates itself to me 
these wild days
are less demanding of thoughtfulness than these nights
in the shop trying with my eyes to decipher my hands
and their too fast handwriting wracking myself to know
what book was it you wanted to read
what combination of uncombinationed words now
after the kids have gone to sleep thoughts are for grown ups
as they grew up said the kids as they grew up
(if I had a book I'd read it if I had an I)

1 comment:

Radish King said...

I love this flat out.