Wednesday, November 10, 2010


Lay my head down to sleep,
eyes lashes flutter against splintered boards
and an anvil cools the side of my cheek
I'll wake at intervals of twenty minutes.

Instead of sheep I count sorries
that stack up like bricks
and dance on my throat;
I'll fix it tomorrow.

Dreams creep like poison ivy,
infect with an itch, that lasts
'till they're gone, and you're
left with the scars.

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