last night
at 7:30 p.m. I was asleep.
the flute stood sentry in the stand
the keyboard was silent
there were no ten minute activities.
the dog and the man were downstairs
I slept to the hum of the fans
covers thrown off in the heat
there was no movement on the bed
maybe I was dead, to the world
anyway.
i slept through poetry
I dreamed in prose.
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