All Night No Sleep Now This.jpg
All Night No Sleep Now This.jpg

All Night No Sleep Now This


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All Night No Sleep Now This


 

All Night No Sleep Now This

Daytime moon. Moon like some guy you grew up with 
who won't go away. Moon like God's weird tooth.   

Won't go away. 
Is impersonating a slice of cake. My stupid heart 
blinking like I imagine a button
on a black box does 
up until and maybe even after
we have given up trying to remember. 

I have given up trying to remember
the train's schedule or the quiet that scatters 
from its whistle 
like the seed head of a dandelion. 

I don't know why it makes me feel better 
to imagine a child 
blowing pollen across a darkened field.

Up on the moon, my friend lies down
beside the ghost of his wife.

Their bed is a block of ice and soon
they are frozen.

On earth, the terrible things 
and the beautiful things
continue to happen beside each other.
    
On the moon in the darkness, nothing.
On earth in the darkness, sometimes 
rain swells like applause. 

 

 

 
 

Jeffrey Morgan


Jeffrey Morgan


 

Jeffrey Morgan is the author of Crying Shame [BlazeVOX, 2011]. More recently his poems have appeared, or will soon, in Copper Nickel, The Journal, Ninth Letter, Pleiades, Poetry Northwest, Rattle, and West Branch, among others. You can sometimes find him at thinnimbus.tumblr.com.    

 

ISSUE FIVE