Oh, warm bed;
     most murderous depredator
of midnight reverie

Suffocator of thoughts,
Stifler of desires,
                desires for fervor
Sufficed by lukewarm
                                        blankets
    
“Frozen feet far take your mind!”

If these bedclothes
                       were not my socks, my coffin

I’ve just been asked
if I was reading
Poetry.

I said yes

then if i was writing
poetry

I said no

then i said i have written poetry before
I lied

have you felt life
palpitating your eardrums out of sleep
entrenched in expectation,

the telltale heartbeat of the morning
tapping, rapping at your door

the sweet dalliance with insomnia
under a moonlight sonnata
and the ardent awaiting of awaking?

not me,
I sleep

but I’m here, eating microwaved
pizza
doing my best not to forget
which is the slice that fell on the floor

while I read,
while I try to read yet think of myself
reading
which I hate

almost as much as the stains on the paper

and then
I see myself finishing
the last slice
with too little
cheese

I despise death’s taste
On the roof of my mouth.

At dawn our moans,
Are but melodies
To finish good nature
Our sweetened end;

We'll live possessed
By improvisation
Of melodic contractions,
Whence our bodies
drums

My valiant voice
Speaks verses in vain
Vacillating but violent
Voraciously expands

The vibrant sounds
Embark in a voyage
Which leaves it vulnerable
Then, victoriousless, it dies