Page 71 - Microsoft Word - 1_light travels_FOR FLIPBOOK ADJUSTED.docx

wriggling on the scrubbed shower floor. I pep-talk Me:
Stop Reading Lorca*.
Pop a sleeping pill —
not up for natural dream cycles!
I deserve a little oblivion?
Of the slow mosquito in the curtain fold,
the cave by my bed — furniture squeezed in so the closet can't close around my baggage.
By Grace, artificially, I drop deep.
* “Intellect is often poetry’s enemy, since it limits too much, since it lifts the poet into the bondage of aristocratic fineness, where he forgets that he might be eaten, suddenly, by ants, or that a huge arsenical lobster might fall on his head...”
— Federico García Lorca, Theory and Play Of The Duende