Night Brain

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Night Brain

Hey you!  Night Brain, who cares no whit
for morning’s vows all ‘round,
whose desires drive this body
(though arousal runs aground)–
Be it
for yet another sip–
folly
with my head and plate-full–
or one more check of blue, back-lit,
scratch of escapist soul

that itches like a pox inside,
mosquito swallowed whole,
mistaking screen/glass for the light
at the end of the tunnel.
Night Brain!
How you willfully lame
me–  Night
Brain….  I sit in the glooming
now–waiting for you to confide
in me–whisper what’s looming–

 

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Here’s another (more or less) set of Robert Herrick stanzas for an old prompt of Kerry O’Connor’s and also a “conversation” poem for a new prompt of Kerry O‘ Connor’s, both on Real Toads.   (Yes, I call this one a draft–probably any Herrick stanzas of mine need that appellation.)

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9 Comments on “Night Brain”

  1. brian miller Says:

    ha. my night brain roams….it wanders…it is much more wily than my day brain…though it reminds me what the day brain did not get done….smiles.

  2. Ella Says:

    Haunting how that brain roams and wanders! I loved this poem-but hate it when my brain does that! Nicely done

  3. margaret Says:

    “Night Brain!
    How you willfully lame
    me”

    that is great – yes. Many nights I can’t turn it off!


  4. You are really getting this stanza to work for you! I was admiring your phrasing as I was reading – the balance between flow and pause is very good. I often wonder if my night brain is a different entity from my day brain, so this strikes a chord.

  5. hedgewitch Says:

    Vry artful in all ways, k. I like the way you used ‘glooming’ and the staccato sort of ‘itchy skin’ feel your images evoke, the antsy irritation that one gets when the night brain is jumping you through its hoops.

  6. claudia Says:

    probably i don’t have a night brain as i sleep like a stone as soon as my head touches the pillow…smiles

  7. jo-hanna Says:

    I reckon night brains get called up when roaming through the gloaming and then start doing their work, even on the difficult Herrick form.
    I’m grateful for mine and love finding the completed poem when I wake up, as if dropped through the letterbox.


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