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rand-j-bennettPoems
It’s one eleven, and the night is a newborn without a name. My thoughts have a clarity, a purity, an emptiness, that is too fragile for daylight. I am Zen, I am centered; [a little left of center, now] I am scattered across the dusty facets of my life like renegade marbles from a child’s palm, so that I can see every moment like one might see a city from a parachute. There is something beautiful about being awake while the world sleeps, like I’ve just come through a tunnel from China. [Which reminds me of the Buddhist symbol tattooed on your left wrist.] Like an animal from its cage, I hang around and chase my tail— I don’t know what to make of this freedom. Cartwheels in the halls? Salsa in the kitchen? Tiptoe to the bathroom, coax an ocean from the taps? Float on a pillowcase, make myself small, slide under the door to kiss you in your sleep, and d i s a p p e a r like the echo of a priest bouncing off sleepy Sunday sighs, only there to rub from your eyes when the morning comes, as the night curls up and dies?
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May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
Night Owl
It’s one eleven, and the night is a newborn without a name. My thoughts have a clarity, a purity, an emptiness, that is too fragile for daylight. I am Zen, I am centered; [a little left of center, now] I am scattered across the dusty facets of my life like renegade marbles from a child’s palm, so that I can see every moment like one might see a city from a parachute. There is something beautiful about being awake while the world sleeps, like I’ve just come through a tunnel from China. [Which reminds me of the Buddhist symbol tattooed on your left wrist.] Like an animal from its cage, I hang around and chase my tail— I don’t know what to make of this freedom. Cartwheels in the halls? Salsa in the kitchen? Tiptoe to the bathroom, coax an ocean from the taps? Float on a pillowcase, make myself small, slide under the door to kiss you in your sleep, and d i s a p p e a r like the echo of a priest bouncing off sleepy Sunday sighs, only there to rub from your eyes when the morning comes, as the night curls up and dies?
Written by
rand-j-bennett
American
May 24, 2012
May 24, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
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