The ceiling fan dance

My knee reposes

5 inches from your hot

And sweating thigh

The sheets are wrapped

Around us

Another restless sigh

And turn

My pillow is knocked

Into shape for the tenth time

I am wide awake

The ceiling fan propels

Thuckety thake

Thuckety thake

The blades performing barrel rolls

A downward spiralling plane


In suburbia

On an ordinary

Friday night

Too warm for covers

Too cool for nothing

And in the end

It is easier to give in

Get up



Shot of water

Drunk standing at the sink

Staring into the darkened glass


To a dog bark

In the distance

And the three million crickets


In unison

Of all they will be missing

Tomorrow afternoon


Why is a cricket even born

When they live such short

Insignificant lives

But what do I know of such things

Except to think

No wonder they sing

No wonder they sing

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