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.

18-Feb-2007

More By  :  Jan Oscar Hansen

Views: 1429     Comments: 0


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