Thursday, May 12, 2011

(no subject) (for J)

show details May 12
Curved ribs caging the hot dog belly,
anchoring footweight at the low
tide of our sleep. There are cemetery
dreams, owls singing the start. Do we sleep

together or do we? Is there another Virginia
across the years or is there only one run
across the state? A girl of these fields
warned against idle questions

in the middle of a poem. In another
war we could sleep and sleep, dog
at our feet whimpering at the round
hoots gunning across the dreamy dark.