A poem a day in April from Rutgers English PhD students and friends.

Saturday, April 16, 2011


For months, even years I forget
to eat in my dreams. Not a hunger

strike but absorption in some ancient
puddle or scrape
from an old accident.

I shed family like outerwear/ jobs
like dandruff.

I incompletely move towards completion.

No one is calling my name.
Phones stack up.

Witnesses bleed.

Once carried up stairs by the gust of revolution
I rode a horse into the palace.

Someone was trying to speak in a locked room.

Thoughts spill from test tubes.

Goodnight, fair ladies. Don’t forget
to check your flies at the door.

1 comment:

  1. ahahaha, amazing ending. also love the "/jobs" hinge. YES.