‘Morning in a Dorm Room’


 Woke up this morning

  to the start of hunting season

  gunfire like scattered applause.

  My cottonmouth is bad and rotten

  my nightkicking has entwined me in the sheets like a fish.

  Out the slit of my window

  is the hill shaped like a boot

  the leaves of its trees like different sherbets.

  I stare up at the white plaster ceiling

  pocked with gooseflesh

  and urge the deer to run

  drawing the comforter over my head

  when the cold seeps through the screen.

  I sleep three quarters of a pine tree high.


  I want to sleep all day in my hot pocket of a bed

  I want to smoke a pack of cigarettes

  I want Einstein to crawl out of his poster on the right wall

  And take me to Fiji on the left.