IF you look closely

at this black ink, you might just

find a hero, breathing

in a beanbag chair,

savoring a sippy drink,

feeling the ease of

being. It doesn’t matter

what time our

hero goes to sleep tonight,

or with whom,

or if at all rest is even required to be

deepened beyond the existing dream.

He is

filling up the dark side,

emptying his basement,

heading into sleepytime with its dreams and debaucheries,

a fantastic pallet

of hungers and thirsts, sensations

of crumbling and becoming again.

Brian Janisse (Oct. ‘17) adds, The poet, at last comfortable with his own voice, begins to embrace the freedom of his narrative, knowing when and where it’s ok to trespass.

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