Tuesday, November 17, 2015


under a spotty red November night sky

I can feel the surges of sleep or insomnia

roll against the restlessly sleeping

tossing like a cloth in a wind

or the vividly awake in listless glazing

holding a glass in a dim living room

and watching the empty air churn out

the furniture now as nothing to toasted ganglia

how perfect this late Fall night in choosing its own time

to impose sense of place and free us in a single action

like the dull-witted in the midst of a decision

staring head in the stale cryptic air toward Heaven

the air roiling gently out of touch until deteriorated

even as anger swells and futility lessen

the fine fire of the night what's left is your sky

Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito.    

Content (c) 2008-2015 Philip Milito.

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