I thought it was night but found out the windows were painted black and a bluebird bigger than a child's head was singing. When we get out of Nam the pilot said we'll go down to S.A. and kick the shit outta those commie greasers. Of course. In sleepwalking all year long I grew cataracts, white-haired, flesh fattened, texture of mushrooms, whistled notes at moon. After seven hours of television and a quart of vodka he wept over the National Anthem. O America Carcinoma the eagle dead. Celebrate her with psalms and new songs -- she'll be fifteen tomorrow, a classic beauty who won't trouble her mind with poems. I wanted to drag a few words out of silence then sleep and none were what I truly wanted. So much silence and so many words. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE TRAGEDY OF VALENTINIAN: THE POWER OF LOVE by JOHN FLETCHER THE NEW INN: A VISION OF BEAUTY by BEN JONSON MONNA INNOMINATA, A SONNET OF SONNETS: 4 by CHRISTINA GEORGINA ROSSETTI ASTROPHEL AND STELLA: 84 by PHILIP SIDNEY TO A DISTANT FRIEND by WILLIAM WORDSWORTH |