Durham, etc. Blues [pt. 20] (flood)
20
Unfamiliar with his own exhaustion,
the nocturnal one burrows
into a cocoon of fresh laundry.
He kicks, like a dog gently in dream,
with the drumtap of a fetus.
While misguided skeptics lash themselves
to the wires of the phantom box
and burrow themselves into a
network of boorish anonymity.
Narrow halls in a crypt
the floors are gathering water!
Durham’s drought in reverse!
There is a two hour wait
in line to scale the chapel
in asylum.
To pass the time I myself
burrow into dampened pages of
some whacko’s verse.
