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the day was damned
and sleep is
out there
somewhere,
waiting.

but the idiot
in me wants
a poem—
something tender

that falls
to the page
like spring rain
and wakes the world,

or glides across
the skin
like music
or a lover’s breath.

a man could
find redemption
in a victory
like that.

maybe tomorrow
something will come.

 
This poem originally appeared in the 2009 collection Sixty-Six.