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Sleeping With The Dead (Poem)

I was in London last night
with Sondra, though she’s
been gone for 13 years.

I had breakfast with Fidel
in Woodstock
one recent foggy morn.

Sometimes I wake myself up
speaking Marco’s words
out loud.

I sleep with the dead,
prefer them
to the living.

Even my mother
and father speak words
of truth and beauty,
give me their wisdom
instead of their pain.


3 responses »

  1. I like your poetry. Good use of enjambment. Images are clear and free from overextension. I am glad that I stumbled in here.

  2. Thanks, Debra. What’s enjambment?

  3. I looked it up:
    en·jamb·ment [en-jam-muhnt, -jamb-]
    noun, plural en·jamb·ments [-muhnts]
    the running on of the thought from one line, couplet, or stanza to the next without a syntactical break.

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