First One

Posted in nothing special by maggie on 2009/01/11

Concocting an epoch next
To its corner carved from the ache
Setting off my alarm

In lieu of another damp realization
Of where this lick must lead,
Out again, outlasting my own will to dream.

My lamp's been left on all night:
Imperceptible borders get drawn up,
Shadowy distinctions

To have overlooked by seasoned experts
Prowling like peeping curators
With budgets as spent as wasted fuel.

Don't ask me to undress.
For what I see this dipsomania suggesting
I hold between my legs

To make the lips work on cue,
I can live in what I slept in. Here, suppose:
A final word stirs beside me.

On all fours I crawl back into the sheets
Made by routine conversation,
Blank pages expecting hangover's vile purge.

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