Thursday, October 23, 2008

An Overgrown Song for the Middle of the Night

It's nearly four. The sky has long been dark,
And I, like all diurnal folk, should be in bed.
I wish that I could fall asleep— alas! my tired head
Is overstuffed with prosody and politics and Wondermark.

With sincere apologies for the poor cut-and-paste job.

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