I used to be a night guard,
like the night guards that sign me out,
a coffee stained journal,
and an old radio,
a chair worn down from long shifts behind flickering console monitors,
a lunchbox and a Maclean's magazine,
pencils scattered amongst
sports sections
and completed crosswords,
a ball of keys,
a late patrol,
a black sky,
a cigarette under a full moon,
I used to be a night guard,
you dream with your eyes open,
when you're alone until noon.
5 comments:
"you dream woth your eyes opne/ when you're alone until noon."
I think you capture the essence of a night gaurd right there. Magic right before my eyes.
Like caffeine buzzing through veins on an endless night. This poem kept me going.
That must have been a gig that now bursts with poems and stories.
Cool Poem.
Dox, you ought to publish those lucid dreams -- Notebooks from the Night Shift. I know from a lifetime of insomnia that some of the weirdest shit you'll ever see, hear or witness, or thought you did, happens in the unsettling silence of the wee hours.
nice one dox nation. I remember those days. mike white showed you the ropes. tuna sandwich on whole wheat in a brown paper bag. oily parking lots.
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