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 Oct 2014 Curtis
Sjr1000
My night time self
hates
my morning self
it's clear as night and day
they never did get along.

My night time self
stays up too late
never sleeps
always thinking
drinking, plotting, planning,
worrying about morning self's mistakes
smoking a thousand cigarettes
one **** over the line
eating chocolate bars
at one a.m.

While my morning self
an early riser
is the one
that has to get up
go to work
always corrects
and
lectures
dedicated to maintaining the structure.

My night time self
only thinks about himself
uses
the last piece of wood
won't bother setting up
the coffee maker
he's so cruel
stares into t.v. space
muttering about love's
he's never had.

While my morning face
has to face
the clutter of night time
disgrace
bottles,
lights blasting
computers running
another ***** movie going
hello poetry splattered on the walls
and another alcohol poisoned
Jersey blonde
stretched out across
the bathroom floor
while morning self
has to shave
and doesn't know her name.

Night time self
finally sleeps
god rest his soul
about the time
morning self
from his dreams
has to rise
rudely awakened by talk radio.
Morning self has to go out and play
the straightened out games
while the residue
of night time insanity
lingers,
a film
covering morning self's
pretense at sanity.
Responsible
ethical
moral
always has to pay the bills
for you know who.

I once tried to get them together
a meeting of these two
but it quickly dissolved
into
a
shouting match
across the twilight dew
never could get them together
they were as different
as
me and me
and
you and you.
"one **** over the line. . ." Brewer & Shipley, 1970.
 Oct 2014 Curtis
JWolfeB
The moon collapsed.

The sky fell numb.

Plentiful stars watched eagerly as the earth floor unfolded.

Our worlds slowed down.

Long enough to enjoy this catastrophe.

To reach into our throats and pull out promises.

Deflate our lungs with good intentions.

Fill our eyes with things to remember.

And to flood our ears with words unspoken.

Time stood still and glanced in our direction.
 Oct 2014 Curtis
JWolfeB
I'll bottle up the fragrant sea breeze
into tufts of baleen.
Scooping up secluded.
While pressing frequent calls of
loneliness into the fabrics of air
inside of us.
Breaking up the ice sheet
with a warm heart.
Joined by precious
ocean lull.
Ice holding moments
that already passed us.
Poor some whiskey in
let us release the past.
If I could package up the arctic in a box and send it away. ( Inspired by Kalypso)
 Oct 2014 Curtis
JWolfeB
A teachers heart is one of learning.
Of constant modification.
Lending pieces of it at the sound of a child's voice.

What is not seen  
Are the broken parts.
The times when my heart falls out of my chest.

My child, I am sorry
My child, you don't deserve it
My child, here is safe

A heart of protection.
Showing each student their worth
Value more valuable than the words of this poem

Without you my child
My heart
Would simply

collapse
Thinking about my students and how much they mean to me today and how much they deserve and how much some of them don't actually get.
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