Democrat, Illinois - The ElectroLounge

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Sleepwalk
This is the time for evading landmines,
and the quake and shake of steaming sky.
I see a bed without it’s frame and armour thrown atop it,
sleepless for quite some time.
He who has not braved these lyrical tides,
and who has not yet met the note to the word
falls among the many, and dies,
his art like a fruit skin browning inside.
Xylephones and bow-tied servants wait,
their telegraph machines locked in stone tombs.
Their past and our present are on a collision course.
Friend, spare me the story, and the stench of hippie drums.
Let me meet the morning’s exhaustion on the night shift,
making a run at it; one poem that’s earned it’s place.
109
Joseph Ciccone !
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