Tuesday, September 9, 2008

untitled: morning poem: little sleep and more beer.

there is sweat from glass jars
and it isn't even hot outside
but the faces are burning
red, orange, some sort of magenta.

like a vision,
I see their faces floating
merging together like angels.

I wiped the sweat from the table top
and wrote a letter,
turned on the fan,
and imagined myself among them,
a little bit angry,
thrown in with all those sinners.

1 comment:

Anonymous said...