Monday, February 2, 2015

pulling myself up

from a groggy nap

as if drunken

with a calm acceptance

of doom

hanging like a sweetness above the bed

the gray twilight darkens

and everything about me

seems subsumed back into some void

where random forms find definition

and become what they denote

and all one has to do is float

heedless of trouble and consequence

to become eyes looking out of the air

Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito. All rights reserved.

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