Sunday, February 18, 2007


When I wake up all ribs
in the middle of the night,
hunger sickly clinging to empty,
each little rib lined up to each,
fencing the me into me

I wonder what is the difference
between a poem and a nightmare?
They each shake you up
in a 4am sweat, urging you
to do something different.


Blogger Jay said...

4am is rarely kind to anyone.

February 21, 2007 7:35 AM  

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