Archive | December, 2014


27 Dec


In a silence only comfortable in secret places
we listen to the oddest things and often confront
surface masquerading truths. It happens seconds
before slumber, where conscious and subconscious
share glances fading in and out of a bar;
one tipsy, the other drunk.

An irregular thump-thumping sounds the alarm
and like an annoying buzzer, we are forced to
give biology an overdue audience. Still that’s
not the surreal of it. No, it’s the
rushing, sloshing, or worse, lollygagging
just about dilatory flow of life through our veins.

Hearing that stops us like a screen gone black,
questioning all of the day’s decisions as we
squeeze shut our eyes, fearing they’ll see the light.
We call on our makers, supplicating forgiveness
and new starts, but in case we fail- imagining
how they’ll drape us and who will cry and

who will mean it. We wonder if anything will ever get
done in our absence, “will that chapbook ever
see a bookstore shelf?” And then in a foggy moment,
the serum of sleep seeps into the crevices and
reality warps as a rabbit walks into the bar from the first stanza.
We dream until the buzzer sounds then spring bolt

from the midnight confessional into a hot shower (that doesn’t help),
subsequently chasing caffeinated potions and hyper carbs,
completely oblivious to the near-death oath sworn the night before.

This is middle age.

© Asani Charles 12/26/2014


Ruthelen (a dream revisited)

6 Dec

What happens when poets dream, wake and write?

Ruthelen (A Dream revisited)