Because we all want to write more poems.
summer night in spring
A siren’s ululation slides across
the faux-summer night,
bleeds into the distance
its urgency draining away,
a slackening pulse.
Dog chorus textures
the settled city soundscape
train horn
skateboarders
a car looking for home—
and behind it all
the quiet distance-dulled roar
of the freeway.
This is the inescapable sound,
the rocking leg
the jittering knee
the gum-chewing
jaw twitch
of restlessness
of fear-of-quiet
of fear.
Rock me, mommy
I want you to rock me
until I fall asleep
until the night falls
like bodies into mass graves
each dull thump a finality
until the star-crescendo end of things.
But the orange streetlights
mock the far-future sun’s cinder end
and say
on it goes,
on and on.
- Benjamin Gorman's Shared Poems
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Comments
Clayton Medeiros
May 5, 2012
Permalink
Reminds me of Vonnegut's so
Reminds me of Vonnegut's so it goes. Everything ephemeral, continuous and discontinuous at the same time, Even sleep does not bring an end.