“Je t’aime, la ville ferme,” January Sketches, 2012

I wonder how life in a small rural town turns into this o’ so quickly. 

Awake. Swallow pills.
Sunshine, winter breeze. Buds, trees
tricked by the warm spell.

Daylight waning, dusk.
Awareness fading, a hush,
a stimulant rush.

Incandescent lamp,
champagne, pagan pleasures, love:
poet’s week drips on.

Drink. Swallow pills.
Wine, gaping pulling circling
Void. Rose, eyes closed. Sleep.

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