Boolean Nights Sonnet
"boolean night and hurtled paths"
--Alan Sondheim
Do not crawl gentle into that. Good night and good
night. I prithee, search out the dead cell phones, bid
them rise. How useless of us, how endlessly we barrel
down the nation's highways, as though dawn never
cracketh. Rumble strips rouse us from our naps, our
circadian tricycles. Our meditations safely lodged up
on the shelves above the sink, we close the shutters,
let senescent rabbis shuffle the deck and deal. Late-
night mail arrives, nth delivery of the day, but, down
the river there, mail comes early or never. Gathering
tribes have got all day to sort things out, to compile
their dance suites, their lists of obligations to future,
unformed generations. We're out of luck, my friends,
but something yet might happen--tonight or tomorrow.
Hal
Halvard Johnson
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