Taking a break from Homage Poems for a bit. My initial read-through of Ada Limon's Bright Dead Things didn't inspire anything in me. So I must have been in a terrible mood. Much like Martin Espada's Imagine The Angels Of Bread, the book starts with a poem I imagine hearing on stage at a slam-related open mic. It's written very accessibly and it deals with the sort of stories and issues people at a slam-related open mic will be quick to cheer for. But as the book goes on it becomes increasingly interesting and more complex. And I'm always a sucker for a well-written poem about insomnia. The Tongue Blanket Of Dreaming
Adam Stone I'd like to take a nap. But not a nap that's eternal, a nap where you wake up having dreamt of falling, but you've only fallen into an ease so unkown to you it looks like a new country. -- Ada Limon, "The Noisiness Of Sleep" When i grew too exhausted to tip-toe between the dragons I curled myself into a lozenge Intent on melting away on the foulest dragon's tongue I slept like an accusation against someone you love Dreamed all the precious treasure was time i could scale against my chest Of course i dreamed that i had become my scythe-toothed shelter Don't we all dream of being our own killer or savior
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