found an old poem...

...from september, it would appear. wrote it in washington dc. at the time i called it "kinda sexy..." i think i will keep that title.


If dawn fails to reach me, through shuttered glass,
if my alarm is silenced with the shirt
you ripped off like a man breaking his fast,
let it not be coincidence -- Hurt
can rise atop my brain like cream in milk,
it happens in the first few yawns each day.
So i have made my bed with sheets of silk
and feather tops, to keep those yawns away--
but night can be day, and day can be night,
so if the dawn should fail to reach me, dear,
with afternoon I will still have to fight.


it was suposed to be a sonnet (hence the rhyme scheme and meter), but it felt done after 11 lines; didn't have the strength for 3 more. the nice little punchline at the end is evidence that i was pretty much only reading Edna St. Vincent Millay on that trip. =) if you've never read her, go here:

http://www.bartleby.com/131/index2.html

or AT LEAST read this:


IF I should learn, in some quite casual way,
That you were gone, not to return again—
Read from the back-page of a paper, say,
Held by a neighbor in a subway train,
How at the corner of this avenue
And such a street (so are the papers filled)
A hurrying man—who happened to be you—
At noon to-day had happened to be killed,
I should not cry aloud—I could not cry
Aloud, or wring my hands in such a place—
I should but watch the station lights rush by
With a more careful interest on my face,
Or raise my eyes and read with greater care
Where to store furs and how to treat the hair.


*sigh* so good.

with love, terrible sleep patterns, and lots of trader joe's unpasteurized orange juice,
dan