There is rarely a silent night 6-30-96
There is rarely a silent night.
If there aren't cars on the street then
the lights overhead will sing to
the road their tedious song,
their orange eyes riveted open.
Crickets will chirp, hidden in grass;
frogs croak in suburban ditches;
and fans and clocks will count hours
by the turn of their blades and hands.
In the woods, where all other sounds
seem missing, someone camping will
hear blood in his veins,
hear the wind in her lungs, or the
buzz of her nerves
that keeps her awake until day
Even though I wrote this eleven years ago I still feel pretty happy with it. The monotony of the language reinforces the theme of insomnia and the allusion to the legendary Christmas song is also a lot of fun. In hindsight this was one of a number of poems inspired by an as yet undiagnosed sleeping disorder.