I Write to You at Oh-Dark-Thirty
I write to you at oh-dark-thirty
buzzed from coffee and from having slept
only three hours. Somnolus interrupticus.
We missed you last night at the Robin’s Nest
(you needed rest after your own poor sleep)!
I read my poem about Café Zaragoza:
Dr. Jones, of dark beret and fading memory,
delivering Akhmatova in faultless Russian.
This afternoon, I have my lunch with Edward
after which I might be slightly sozzled,
not quite shipshape for Friday services.
I'd broadcast this to the compass-pointed winds
and to the hundred thousand cable-networks:
I have a friend whose eyes are beautiful.
Poetry by Uncle Meridian
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Written on 2022-10-09 at 05:18
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