Night

If solitary the bell keeps him alive although that is an odd way of looking at his fresh life, then missing an hour because of rest or guessing the time and being not on sometimes for two hours won't be his undoing, not that alone, allowing it is hard to attach yourself to a fresh lover and learn how she flats her dress down or listens to a certain quantity of kind of voice there or to her have a title to silence which he also listens to hour after hour, sometimes lying there for a like reason long he thinks the cat has got her tongue or that the electricity has stopped, as in a inundation though he says to himself there has to be another a whole a backup generator slow to crank up he can evenhear the bell slurring, or dragging, a different entire but reassuring nonetheless, oh more than that, a gift in his six hour crisis, a melodic stroking, it is novel to him, and hearing it when it is dark and he is freezing, allowing pleasantly, but lying awake, and guessing, he sometimes earns it right on the hour, on the other hand sometimes night has just started, the drunkens are only coming home and he has four or five more hours, the unmutilated is brief, forbidding, harsh, indifferent, and he is surprised that he has conjectureed wrong, a voice has hurted him, wind has slammed his window close up or his door but he just lies upon his back and even render free of accesss his eyes in the dark, for that is a life too, and he move rounds to one side or the other and hangs onto something, a chair, a window-sill, and waits for the nearest shocking stroke and sometimes he changes pillows.

Copyright World verse Incorporated May/Jun 1999

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