Tuesday, February 8, 2011

A Table Lamp In Connecticut - a poem

"Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing
there is a field. I'll meet you there."

"The light is only a circle" -

more a bend that frames a sequence,
a gradual definition of things
that leaps to a shadowed blending
as you back away.

On the nightstand,
there is a half-empty bottle of
Coca-Cola, an open bottle
of Tylenol PM. I must be tired.

Outside I know the hills of Ashford are
washed with nocturnal noise,
frogs and flies, the crescendoing
and breathing that keeps this cold night
from freezing.
There is a moon, some stars,
and a whisper of light. Just not in here.

Inside is just a testament,
white angles outside the lamplight jutting
in an ancient geometry,
a wooden cabinet that kills the
blaring silence, bare walls and old magazines
to grow bored by.

Miles away speeding cars collide
to say nothing,
and all I can hear is what I can't say.

- "The light is only a circle."

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