Sunday, October 2, 2011

Four Hours

Four hours of sleep,
a hot meal,
and the heart is
when only a moment before,
washed out and solitary,
I was ready to give
up the ship

How much of us,
this human spirit,
can be reduced to chemicals
mixing, rushing
and finally depleting?

This thing you call will,
battered by your open eyes
and replenished
by the fetal position,
a small dream lacking
coherence -
meatloaf and gravy.

Alaska, shining eyes,
fur ruff, pinking cheek
and the wind cutting in
straight from eternity.

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