A poem simply sounds the bell, of that which words could never tell.


In the heat of the moment,
My thoughts evaporate
Before they touch my soul,
Silent, melting words,
Hang, Daliesque,
From my tongue.
All motion suspended,
I wait for a cooling breeze
Through the gaping,
Curtainless window,
To lend me a new breath,
With a hollow hope
That the dark night
Bring relief,
When -
Dreams arise
Like steam
In feverish
Half sleep,
My mind
By the drone
Of the electric fan,
My rhythm
Tuned to its next
Blessed oscillation.
The rush of warm air
Reminds me
That I have a body,
As I drift and float
In this still, dead, salty sea,
In the heat of the moment,
Held prisoner till dawn.

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