November 2, 2014 § Leave a comment

Sunday cold
first flakes last night
Dostoevsky heavier
by a pound than the
cat on my legs

waiting for the morning
to evolve
or pass

still learning that rest
is not a sentence imposed

for this is why
sleep dreams
elude me
– not enough time
to allow them
to kick in

Alyosha in his cell
I in mine
restless both

let’s see if the next
paragraph puts me under
the cat is
already out

a slow rise and fall
of her rib cage
a rotation
of an ear

toward the nearly
turn of a page

(c) 2014 Fred Whitehead


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