Trappings

To be startled awake,

to become suddenly aware of 
ancestral animals
coiled within you,
dreaming —

to forget your name,
your income and
your furniture, all your
trappings; 

to get up and dress and step outside

and stand
in the chill
under full moon and

let its light stir
all those inner beasts, let them
open their eyes
and see through your eyes and
feel them wondering where they are
as they turn and stretch and then
resettle into their long sleep
with reset dreams,

is to be forced to choose

whether
you should go back
into the cluttered house
and sleep

or sit down on the sidewalk,
your back pressed
to the stone wall that frames
your tiny yard, looking up with 

yawns and whimpers vibrating
in your bones, shivering
in delight as you wait
for dawn and whatever
comes after dawn.

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About Tony Brown

A poet with a history in slam, lots of publications; my personal poetry and a little bit of daily life and opinions. Read the page called "About..." for the details. View all posts by Tony Brown

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