Staceyann Chin

3:13 a.m.

and I wrestle with the sandman tonight

long sentences and short
subjects haunt the perimeters of me late
after mitten nacht

and what am I not
doing about

the tentative
arms of love/like/need

dependency does not have to be a dirty word
you once told me

Denver
and all that lies there
the questions

when will sleep come
when

sleep come

and these flights
trains and plains to yet uncover

tank
and panties at the suite
in Carlisle

under the covers fuschia
looks almost pink
under the horrible light

of a horrid lamp
how I abhor

lamps not made for reading

the air-conditioned summer
invites tedium

dry air mimicking my home
not quite home these days

long windows
and short doors opening
closing behind me

in front lies the smallest opening
jump child

spring easy into the night

and how my knuckles still smart
when I lift my bag
in the station

iced-tea
cheetos
and corn flakes (I love Cornflake girls)

corny or a maize-d
maiden marked for grain
and striped for wood

striped blue and brown socks
flung careless on a carpeted floor

Thank you Dickinson
Makeeba
Lauren

and a girl singing praises
to Maria

on the phone
sleep woman

you should be sleepy by now
not a channe

but I say this to Asha

thank you for writing me
a poem

when I most needed
to feel

like somebody outside my religious intention
loved me still

the night thrashes unending
and I am halfway through The Life of Pi

Yann Martel
is one wild genius

he must spend nights drawing blood from such tales
wish I could tell

a tiger like that
animal

we wish we could do more than eat each other
when hungry

nothing makes sense
blue seas
and iron stuctures that take us over them

fish you said
I prefer fish to the bloody rare
of a good steak

too much of this lack of food
bookstore tomorrow

clean my room the day after

so many stories I have yet to see
tell them to me

girl
you better start
the wild ducking that tempts me
toward re-reading

Wizards
and the ways we carry them forward
into understanding

soups and how many spoons we need
full or otherwise measured out
as lesson

how much more human are we
than error

caprice
or intent

what do you do
when you are fightened

tiger
hyena

what do we do
when we are in threat of

bleeding
more than life from our chests

drink with me here
the sea laps formidable

and the errors are endless
you will forgive them

my loves
the water and the glass
are often incongruent in love

pour me liquid from the throat
of your womb

herbivore

my hands have grown old
with the years of waiting

for you
it would be so romantic to say
you

the years beat angry at me
lines are here to prove that

old hat
the way you inch towards reticence

pray me a mantra
a Hindu

carnivore

Christian
Tiger Bengal

thrash against me
so I may know

I do not strain away from slumber
alone

sleepless in Pennsylvania,
Staceyann

Posted by staceyann at February 3, 2005 03:29 AM