September 12: Going to Sleep, Matt Gavin Frank, "Sagittarius Nocturne"

After I am done with this post, I am going to sleep.  My wife is a little annoyed with me at the moment.  She wants to hold a serious conversation with me, and I want to type this post and have a serious conversation with my pillow.

I can't blame my wife.  We haven't seen each other much this week.  I had commitments literally every night this week.  Meetings.  Classes.  Poetry Readings.  Awards ceremonies.  This night is the first we've been together in about five days.

Unfortunately, all I can think about is slumber.  And the poem below by Matt Gavin Frank.

Saint Marty has to work up some energy to hold a conversation with his spouse.

Sagittarius Nocturne

by:  Matthew Gavin Frank

Night heavy
as a cabbage, and I doze
to the dachshund's
chicken bone vomitting,
then swim, dressed like marriage
in only a cummerbund,
to the wet star so on top
of the tool shed, and hear
a single yard of black grass confide
to its finish every morning,
and the coal necklace
on brick where jellyfish,
in blocked uppercase letters,
spell another mystery
without the stroke of a few
fattening photographers,
disorganized white breasts,
the loud treasons of waking.

Sweet dreams, everybody