Friday, May 9, 2014

THIS POEM IS THE SNOOZE BUTTON

The now
and then sort-of 

subtle sound—of a few spring
morning 
rain drops pinging

off a maybe 
not so
distant bedroom window—

marks the time 
past which a body 

really ought
to be thinking 
of rising-

up, and so gently nags 
employment! 

of the rest
of its 
prone and still-
dormant senses;

which should 
by now 
be just as 
busy—say,

smelling lilacs, tasting coffee—

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