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Sprawling notes
At five a.m.
A sleep sullen soul
Stares blankly into
Empty space.
A knife edge darts
Along a crooked smile
Its dark converging lines concede
The adrenal grip of treason.
Reality flares
And trembles forth
A rampant fire
In a weeping trashcan.
Your limp mind's
Crippled fingers
Long to pull,
To grapple with intent
But its tired arms are bent
From falling stones.
Its future is held forth
In mawkish leaps.
These subtle twitchings
Move sideways into danger
The trashcan's smoking spheres
Flinch upwards
While skimming barer trees.
All new realities come
As sprawling notes
At the end of
A longer page.
From: Travels on a Listening Dark Poems by Peter Cahoon
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