The other night was a good one in the east
when the rain stopped and I plant liberties
so I can pull them up like turnips again and again.
Again I find myself sleep walking
to the car, the refrigerator, the vault,
and take out what everyone wants;
a short-barreled rifle, comfort, the shiny box.
Last night was not so good – the toothache,
the undersides of alien places? – so that I wake
not home but somewhere known, visited again and again,
the name slipped into an anagram,
an arm swallowed by a long glove?
Again I’m sleeping with someone
I knew who is now stranger than ever
and last night splinters of language
whispered from the drawer by the bedside
and the scratchy voice spilled shark-tooth pieces
onto bedspread and carpet – letters, little words
scurrying between the cracks.
Tonight is quieter. Among the vines, we cut
a couple fingers from the timeline and dig
a license up to find it expired. Again and again
come the words of sore promises,
a name that winks out at the sky’s edge.
David P. Kozinski’s poems have appeared in 40 literary publications and his books include I Hear It the Way I Want It to Be (a finalist for the Hillary Gravendyke Prize) and Tripping Over Memorial Day (both Kelsay Books). He is Poet in Residence at Rockwood Museum in Wilmington, DE, has received a Delaware Division of the Arts fellowship, and was Expressive Path’s Mentor of the Year. Kozinski is Art Editor of Schuylkill Valley Journal.
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