Alarm Clock

Broken clocks with wooden blocks
And the power is out again.

Cold burning hands lifted up with a little
sacrificial parenthetical nonsense

"Yuletide noreaster winding down"
Of course it will be cold - it always is. 

And there will be red numerals flashing 
in the morning. 

Isaac is having his nightmares again,
Feeling like a tied down goatskin.

maybe it is just that Old Testament slang. 


Some say single syllable saliva.
Some say killing time on Mount Moriah.

Now a fifth of gin in the pillowtop linen,
May be worse a sin than to kill kin.

And the blankets are tangled thickets,
The alarm clock is tuned to AM radio.
Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

Poem

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December 20, 2016 at 11:35 AM
nathan, this was an awesome read. LINDA
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