“The Southern Sleep”


the southern sleep upon me
does not translate
into any human language
it has politely cut
a thousand heads
made friends w/ charging towers
sentenced them to death

this southern sleep
is most alive, it bears no resemblance
to any authority
it has no expression, but suddenly
disappears when touched
enjoying the lay
tough as its creature’s burden

this southern sleep
is a starry vault of pills
it takes you to the movies
street sunlight symptoms
you can ride the cinema wave, it says,
soothingly chooses the chair
you passed by

this southern sleep
is a blob on the beach
stratosphere passenger drifting by, exclaiming
“we’re special!” above the businessmen sea
it grows cancerous, swinging to the music
my tired fingers make
when awake

Copyright © 2012 by A.J. Kaufmann. All rights reserved.