He who can no longer pause to wonder and stand rapt in awe, is as good as dead; his eyes are closed.
--Albert Einstein --

Sunday, December 6, 2009

Circadian Crash

Put on my black shirt to play
A Sunday morning concert
Coming down after orange juice
Walk into the bright light
Fantasy fantastic circadian crash
Biscuits and kettle drums
Blankets and boredom
Tranquilizing dreaming screams
And a note from the ever after
Telling me to close my eyes
I respectfully abstain
From breathing on queue
Don’t tell me where to do
Just lay down and let me
Stand on the ends of your hairs
Until the sky spins around
Like the shine
In a fly’s eyes
Take this time to thank you
For all the things I’ve done
Disintegrating to the beat
Of a song that never played
Longing for the chorus
Of waving grass
In a wind
That cannot see the ground

November 29, 2009

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