o white night
sitting under 200 watts of white lights
leg resting on a tiny tower
of Pound cantos books
motionless since zero hour
o white dreams
eyes hypnotized by the blinking screen
and the words rippled into lakes
all four thousands of them
the last time I checked
o white dawn
unwanted birdie songs
feet shuffling on my ceiling
bath water running in waterclosets
and the whole world comes to wake
while this sleepy poem I make
(05/16/01)
Hyperbolean by Robin Street-Morris
