Monday, August 17, 2009

I fall asleep to clicking and clanging and 5 feet of light
coming from the South
I fall into places I'll never be with people who's names
I only know, and a few strands of black hair
I fall awake to silence
the kind that feels like a ton of clouds resting on your head
I fall back down again so I can stay with them;
though they know nothing but my breath
I stand conscious in my kitchen
and the tea kettle is the only whistling sound
I stand it hardly, I stand it nervously
If I could sit for one second and feel that I'm sitting
I'd stand to go to work again and smile till it hurts
I'd stand to make a phone call or ten or two
I'd stand to go elsewhere.

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