Day's last thoughts play
through the creases of my sleepy mind.
Questions pile like the flakes
on the sidewalks outside.
Square of purple light in my white wall,
painted night grey,
glimpse of snowfall--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled teleplay.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming.
and change the program.
For now, the channel remains right here.
The Winter flickers 'cross my face.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single view of a wider picture
that covers miles. Bends lines into a face.
Impulses race through a fading mind.
Snow is piling deeper
on the bike path outside.
Retrace my steps as eye lids close
over distance
Still that square glows--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled episode.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming
behind the credits.
For now the channel remains right here.
Half-smile flickers 'cross my face.
A different place and some different ways
to transmit greetings across this space
and to broadcast all our withheld wishes
would be fine.
But tomorrow I'll wake up.
And these re-runs never stop.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single snowy, interfered picture.
A half-formed question:
Are you watching this same thing?
Jan 7, 2016
Jan 7, 2016 at 7:53 PM UTC
Day's last thoughts play
through the creases of my sleepy mind.
Questions pile like the flakes
on the sidewalks outside.
Square of purple light in my white wall,
painted night grey,
glimpse of snowfall--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled teleplay.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming.
and change the program.
For now, the channel remains right here.
The Winter flickers 'cross my face.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single view of a wider picture
that covers miles. Bends lines into a face.
Impulses race through a fading mind.
Snow is piling deeper
on the bike path outside.
Retrace my steps as eye lids close
over distance
Still that square glows--a buzzing, fuzzed-out
scrambled episode.
Through interference I'll slide
eventually
down into
dreaming
behind the credits.
For now the channel remains right here.
Half-smile flickers 'cross my face.
A different place and some different ways
to transmit greetings across this space
and to broadcast all our withheld wishes
would be fine.
But tomorrow I'll wake up.
And these re-runs never stop.
And that window's purple
square is a small piece
of a tired world just trying to fall asleep;
A single snowy, interfered picture.
A half-formed question:
Are you watching this same thing?
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