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Joy No Joy, A Memoir of Sleep
Jared Stanley

A flare of birds leave
a trace in the cynic's mind;

flight is not skywriting

"seeks to keep
alive all

An evil, fire-close
to real movements,

does not disappear,
as even a sleeper knows,
with a glance and turn.

There's an ardor to keep in our clothes—
warm against a weather-greed,

a genial snow/zealotry.
A wintry drag
dressed the ground
like a cookie.

The shorthand of the spheres
animates the fibers of our shirts
wilders us in clothes,
our unlit bodies,
connected lumps
compact a sense,

a trust still there to come to,
responsible, in sleep,
for each smile and attempt—

gleam's the insistence.
The sun
beautiful and flat

a ring, a verge of eye's capacity
marges of the sleeper's inscribed notions,
the interesting.

Copyrights © 2006, GC & Authors.