11:30

11:30

1.

From the back door, see that the storm is alive,
lightning like spider legs strokes the tops of
trees leaving strings of wind to tangle in their
leaves. You can taste the silk of tomorrow’s
obligations likewise ensnaring your thoughts.
Don’t ask why or where or anything that might be
heard and _____(ignored/acted upon) unless you’re
sure your soul is clean enough to take the answer.
Night birds chatter, smelling the cool rain coming,
but your eyes are as empty as your expectations.
Welcome to 11:30, Son. Welcome to Come to Bed, It’s
Late. There is no spider in the sky, never was; you
are not tired, but it’s time to go up, anyway.
Remember there’s more than warmth waiting upstairs.


But let us savor the taste of cold coming on the
breeze like liquor after a hard job. Days were long
enough to get things done, what there was to do, then.
But Can’t never got nothing done, though nothing is
what needs to be done, sometimes. Understand, the hot
need of early morning fades usually after the first piss.
This does not mean you’re incapable of love; it means
you’re alive, safe as a hamster, smug as Sunday pancakes.
Learn to slow time or _____ or enjoy the tapping on the
roof when it comes: Son, the rain spiders want in, too.
That’s all. They are not in your head, but they could be,
if that’s the only way in. Argument ad populum: it means
wear white, something borrowed-it means learn to laugh
with, not at. It means close the door, cut the lights,
ascend, my son, ascend into the warmth; you’ve tasted
the cold. It sticks but doesn’t bind.

2.

From the back door,
see that the storm is alive,
lightning like spider legs strokes the tops of trees
leaving strings of wind
to tangle in their leaves.
You can taste the silk of tomorrow’s obligations
likewise ensnaring your thoughts.
Don’t ask why or where or anything
that might be heard and _____(ignored/acted upon)
unless you’re sure your soul is clean enough
to take the answer.
Night birds chatter,
smelling the cool rain coming,
but your eyes are as empty
as your expectations.
Welcome to 11:30, Son.
Welcome to Come to Bed,
It’s Late.
There is no spider in the sky, never was;
you are not tired, but
it’s time to go up, anyway.
Remember there’s more than warmth
waiting upstairs.


But let us savor the taste of cold
coming on the breeze
like liquor after a hard job.
Days were long enough
to get things done,
what there was to do, then.
But Can’t never got nothing done,
though nothing is what needs
to be done, sometimes.
Understand, the hot need of early morning
fades usually after the first piss.
This does not mean you’re incapable of love;
it means you’re alive,
safe as a hamster,
smug as Sunday pancakes.
Learn to slow time or _____
or enjoy the tapping on the roof
when it
comes:
Son, the rain spiders want in, too.
That’s all.
They are not in your head,
but they could be,
if that’s the only way in.
Argument ad populum:
it means wear white,
something borrowed-
it means learn to laugh with,
not at.
It means close the door,
cut the lights, ascend, my son,
ascend into the warmth;
you’ve tasted the cold.
It sticks
but doesn’t bind.


C.L. Bledsoe

Posted over on Decomp Magazine

1. Cortney's prose poem
2. Line breaks by Glenn Buttkus