A strange pattern for
writing has come
to me lately.
The skeletons of
poems form when I
lie down for a nap.
Sleep always calls,
and bones want to
dance and grow skin.
Lilacs bloom, and I feel
the inner thigh of
eternity, soft and wet.
I can't get any rest.
I have to jot down the
notes or they turn
to ashes and blow away,
or, they are buried deep in
mud and slumber,
impossible to dig up.
I sleep with a notebook and
pen, as I drift off,
I whisper to the tortured
bones,
don't cry and try not to worry.
I'll bring you to life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwmDj1yF6LA
Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I do my poetry. I just put up a video of a poetry reading I did at the Mason City Public Library.
My books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, It's Just a Hop, Skip, and a Jump to the Madhouse, and Sleep Always Calls, are available on Amazon.