Sleep

Sleep

Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep; For these give joy and sorrow; but thou, Proserpina, sleep. —Algernon Charles Swinburne, Hymn to Prosperine If asked to choose: eternal life or sleep,    he’s not sure how he’d...
Sunday Morning Lethargy

Sunday Morning Lethargy

It’s Sunday morning; I don’t make the bed. Somehow worn from an oversupply of sleep, I feel empty and overfed all at once. Should I eat or should I try a second cup of coffee, or the tea? I am too weary to decide and I tire of this mush of humid luxury....
Ink Spots

Ink Spots

Hearing the car approach, the garage door open,           the engine stop, the driver’s door swing shut, I ran from the room where I’d spilled the ink           and fear was a goblin clutching at my gut. I’d tried to scrub the sofa cushions clean    ...
Entropy

Entropy

Afraid I’ll become some sick and slack-jawed slouch, I beat back the Fall with a broom but the dust of me still lingers ‘neath the couch; I toil and toil on the doorsteps of...