I've been typing up some of my 3:15 Experiment poems, which are pretty dark this year. If you don't know what the 3:15 Experiment is, it's an annual collective of poets who all wake up every night at 3:15 AM during the month of August. Many brave poets attempt it, few survive... well, okay, they all survive, but they do get pretty cranky.
The poems are posted UNEDITED, because the point of the experiment is to see what your 3:15 mind comes up with in its hypnogogic / hypnopompic state.
(the event at the end of this poem is tragically true, not a nightmare I had)
August 2, 2008
As a way of falling asleep
broken thoughts turn into
automatic images playing
Don’t want to force the images let
them come coaxed like eels
underwater, yes, where preference is usually
blind, but no there is a shock
in life that is unreal
how unreal the story of our lives
when we tell it back gripping I
have become a gripper holding
onto that which made the road here
boyfriends, jobs, speeches, crashes
my heart rips open w/ today’s news
a man beheaded on a bus on his way back
home on a bus across Canada
nobody got up to stop the knife
and would I have been any more
confrontational? faced w/a mad man
would I run?
decapitated, the victim 3 minutes dead
what I imagine is the breath
one minute easing out w/a thought
of someone I love or used
to love 10th grade prom the
sloppy gropings and smiles
breathe one-two the knife descends
like that when did the lights go?
did he know his head was coming off?
did he have a chance a moment to
realize and love his life for
what it was?