"Sleep, Words, Noises"

I.

Those words that come when I’m half fading

will never be taken down. Soon the eyes

filter away infrared and the green spectrum

exchanged for characters.

Like first real sleep in a hundred days

those dreams can blind you. A color teevee

a hovering off-white clarity soon gives way

the taste of paradox

still fresh when I wake. Then, my own tell-all to myself

roams a noisy head. I toil in the holy vineyard.

I sing in a secret place and wait for rumbles

prequels to quietness.

II.

Lo my dry land, dusty forks in all the roads

around here neither choice appealing, both

directions drop lower to diminished rivers running

backwards in the New Madrid fashion.

Sure enough here at Dragonfly it’s too far from

the coronations, from Scone where patterns

happen only in the big rise-and-fall of things.

But not in the teeming simple face of

an unknown, unnamed personage.

I run to dreams.


About the author:

L.Ward Abel, poet, composer and performer of music, teacher, retired lawyer, lives in rural Georgia, has been published hundreds of times in print and online, and is the author of Peach Box and Verge(Little Poem Press, 2003), Jonesing For Byzantium (UK Authors Press, 2006), The Heat of Blooming (Pudding House Press, 2008), Torn Sky Bleeding Blue(erbacce-Press, 2010), American Bruise (Parallel Press, 2012), Cousins Over Colder Fields (Finishing Line Press, 2013), Roseorange (Flutter Press, 2013), Little Town gods (Folded Word Press, 2016), and the forthcoming Digby Roundabout (Aldrich Press, 2017).

L.Ward Abel