Finger Poem by Phillip Erb

Finger



Creeping through my window softly,
the morning is born again.
My computer is playing a sad song
about fake plastic watering cans;
I'm not really sure what it means.
As for me, I'm the same, old familiar person
I've been since first memory.
Sleep chases me to the chair,
and I hide from her, hoping she never finds me.

COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Goldy Locks 22 June 2007

Radiohead, on your comp. Good album. quote for you by contemporary poet: I am afraid for the child skipping rope on the corner of my street, the girl on the train with flowers in her hair, the man whose memory is entirely in Spanish. I am more afraid of losing consciousness when I go to sleep, and that in my sleep I will grow old and forget how desire once drove me mad with wakefulness. -Eric Gamalinda

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Phillip Erb

Phillip Erb

Louisville, Ky.
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