by Diana J Legun
Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Rated "G" by the Author.
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Nocturnal disturbances; voices in the head.
In the ruinous remnants of sleepless nights in a row,
face a waxen landscape of a thousand wrinkles,
some sordid inventory rolls itself past
brain-frisking agents in blue latex gloves
and surgeon masks, who fail to find the malady,
so the cavity is closed, under the watch of
slow-shaking heads and steady fingers,
because the patient is going down
and there is nothing to do now except
artificial stabilization and a few flitting thoughts
about what's for dinner.
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|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|My kind of poem… Getting down to the nitty-gritty, like, “what's for dinner?”
|Reviewed by Jerry Bolton
|Haha!! This comes after last nights debacle, where I awoke at 2:15, could NOT get back to sleep and finally got up at three. Drat!
I understand exactly what was going through your thought process (mind, why didn't I just say mind?), because some of it floated throughout mine before I finally got up.
Only difference I didn't wake up hungry.