Forgotten Ground Regained
Talking Trey Down
I.
Be lucid a little and listen: Yes,
you're young but Yikes, man -- you've been dropping
X for a week now. You won't stop whooping.
I've gotten used to the glowsticks, I guess
but here's the sitch: though Smileys and such
are pills for parties, you're presently tweaking
alone on my lawn -- a longhair, talking
of joy like Jesus. It's just too much.
II.
Trust me, to rage a week the way a hive's
vibe lives, by bombination, or like barm
subliming sugar into lager, drives
the human mind mad as a five-alarm
disaster. Buddy, there must be those slow
hours when the barn bats only hang and breathe;
there must be corners where the cobwebs grow.
There must be intervals that soothe the seethe.
III.
Hush now. No cops are whooping and the evening rush
is home unwinding. Pray yourself your mind to keep.
Hush now. Because the sun will rise tomorrow, hush.
Tired little guy, it's time for you to sleep.
Copyright © Aaron Poochigian, 2021
First published in American Divine (Univ. of Evansville Press, 2021)
No part of this site may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems