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Nov. 7th, 2007

I lie
back on back
head
pillow-tucked
not moving
mind twitching
hearing nothing
not listening.
Listening:
hearing nothing.

Absent crickets'
Sweet summer singing
Send me slumbers.

Cold
dark
wet
snow.

No singing.

Comments

( 3 comments — Leave a comment )
nodressrehersal
Nov. 8th, 2007 03:12 pm (UTC)
mind twitching
hearing nothing
not listening.
Listening:
hearing nothing.


My favorite part. I know that mind twitching.
patrick_vecchio
Nov. 8th, 2007 05:32 pm (UTC)
Thanks. That little poem was one big mind twitch. For some reason, as I was lying in bed last night I started thinking about the last lines of a poem called "i sing of olaf glad and big" by ee cummings. I kept repeating them in my head, sort of rolling the rhyme and rhythm around and around. And then I thought about how my tinnitus sounds like crickets. And then I thought about how I hadn't noticed that I'd stopped hearing the crickets at night. And then the lines to that poem started writing themselves. Once I sat down at the keyboard, it was over and done in about two minutes, with most of that time spent considering capitalization and punctuation. And then I realized -- again -- that I have no idea when the muse will appear or what it will say. Or, in the case of this slight and trifling poem, maybe it was an intern muse or a muse proxy.

nodressrehersal
Nov. 8th, 2007 05:40 pm (UTC)
Muse, intern muse, or muse proxy; I just wish it visited more when I'm sitting at the keyboard than when I'm not. My stupid bad brain is not to be trusted with the proper filing and recollection of muse-inspired thoughts.
( 3 comments — Leave a comment )

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