Monday, November 2, 1998

Good Night

It’s 2:15 in the morning,
three quarter moon hangs on the sly
belching through the fog,
dogs debate through long distances
and mocking birds recite their endless list
of reverbed permutations.
I can see that the horses across the way
are still awake too
frozen stoically
under the stark light of their master’s bulb,
they stick together always.
The only other soul alive at this moment
is the landlord downstairs
putting in hard time in front of the
it’s murmur undercutting the perfection that is my
2:15AM stir.
He’s missing the real show
as I write this by candlelight
by the window
having woken up from lucid r.e.m.
and a dream about having new
saxophone sounds
new frequencies.
Just had to get it all down.
Is all seems so sweet
that upon blowing out this candle
I might
step out into it
either physically
or in my next dream.



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