Theme: Introspection

Night Sailing

It's hot all doors open I can hear her sleep,
books on shelves sleep too as do unpaid bills
on my desk. A big insect lumbers across
the floor unseen by the bird in the bedroom
prehistoric it looks, covered by a hard shiny
shell and there is an unfinished poem in
the word processor, all poems are, perfection
stinks. I press the stomach of my toy elephant
its sad trumpeting has a distance as hearing
it all the way from Africa. Gleaming of dawn,
a breeze, bills fall on the floor, last chance we
will come and disconnect you from the world,
must try to find that insect before she awakes
and dominates the morning.


More By  :  Jan Oscar Hansen

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