Sleep Cento


You’re asleep inside your old guitar.

I float above the room.


Again and again this constant forsaking.

Things shouldn’t be so hard.


Even the wallpipes wail a lean cacophony.

And sleep is a galaxy away.




source note: lines and fragments of lines from Beloved on the Earth: 150 Poems of Grief and Gratitude, Perlman, Cooper, Hart, and Mittlefehldt, editors