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

 

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