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I don’t have much going on in my brainspace tonight. I did a lot of grading and recording today, and now my brain is empty.  It hailed today. Could I poem about hail? Probably. But, I’m not feeling it. I read a very sad story today, by David Foster Wallace and just published in Esquire, called “Incarnations of Burned Children”. That is a heartbreaking story. And it is too much like my most irrational daymares for me to handle. So, not gonna poem about that either, most likely. You should read it anyway.

No poemscuses tonight. I’m just going to think of something and write it down, quickly. Poem-Ninja, that’s me. Feeling a bit numb tonight. I’ll poem about that.

In a Night of Sorrow Put Off

In the night of sorrow put off, delayed until tomorrow, there are nightmares accompanied by harpsichords and violas. There are many imaginary demons, and many numb minutes of brief distraction. There are the tasks of they day to deaden us to the grief and wonder of each minute, and what a job those tasks do. The number of people grieving who wish the world would arrest in its orbit, or not really, but who wish that time would stop for a breather, just for a second, times the number who wish backwards possible, equals the number of breaking hearts all over this sphere of clouds. In this night of novacaine heartache, it’s all imagination, and no truth, and distance between the words and the feelings is an atmosphere of silence.

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Don’t know. Just feeling kind of numb and sinus-y tonight. Happy Tuesday, you readers of poems.

 

 

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