NightA Poem by Leslie Philibert
I cannot suck sleep out of the warm air, a clothes
runner killed beside my bed, numbers encode
the darkness, they are not curved
and I reach for your hand, warm paper over chalk hills,
rivers that flow past sinews, tunnels leading to
fingertips, the map creased into your palm.
There are dragons over the main road, they have
moving eyes and heated wings, the night has locked
out gravity, and I am full of feathers, falling up.
© 2012 Leslie Philibert
Shelved in 3 LibrariesAdded on June 8, 2012
Last Updated on June 9, 2012
AboutI`m not important. I just want to write a couple of good poems. Just read what I write. That`s enough. more..
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