Before Second Sleep







It’s 4 a.m. and I’m alone in the world.

All the rooms are empty, the windows dark;

the road that passes the house, silent.


I woke past midnight, read about Rimbaud’s

renunciation of poetry. Now I’m tired enough

to sleep again.


What time should I set the alarm clock for,

I ask myself. No need to set it,

I realize: no trips to make tomorrow,


no obligations. Is that

good or bad, I ask myself.

I’ll answer that tomorrow.


                                                                              Nov. 13, 2016



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