Joan McNerney Blur this blur of hours, this waking sleep sometimes in & then out of this world we are dragged across another night black wells roll thru eyes … trains whizzing at 11 o’clock 1 o’clock winds trace tree shadows over walls on that white trapeze afraid to let go afraid to drop to nightmares lodged in corners shrunken wide-mouthed cars creep down streets as first weak light s t r e t c h e s over roofs & the radio provides some likely song there is no time to find what is lost we march like tin soldiers in an ungodly war with eyes slit at 6 o’clock dry mouths, throats burning, dazed as sirens screech past another morning warning of another day of quiet storms
96
