i dont know
when the sparrows
were replaced
by the crickets
i found myself
lost in kerouac
breathlessly
reading a single
paragraph about
neal cassady
when i noticed
the sky was dark
and sylvia began
to whisper in
my eager ear

i have drifted
between time dilation
in relationship to
gravitational flux
and learning about
the first civilzations
with breaks for jack
as music plays low
feeling a new story
after weeks in drought
yet already dreading
the actual writing
making notes and trying
to define the conceit
gnawing on the words
seeking marrow in
the gristle of
creation’s corpse

incognizant of the
change from the sweet
song in the sunlight
to the sleepy dirge
of urgent chatter
just the wind chimes
rattling hollow tones
lazily as the night
settled over my head
it was a long yawn
that snapped me free
of the rambling prose
and to the soothing
verse of the maestro
a bedtime serenade
from my second favorite
summation of beauty