I heard it once, smoothed-out <br />by gallons of coffee, <br />chest husking like a plow <br />and pulled it into a basement. <br />Cardigan-wrapped the next morning <br />and only then was it true, only then <br />was I so hungry I could eat at the roots of it, <br /> <br />and lay down like a napping aristocrat <br />dreaming of pendulums <br />potbellied, empurpled, <br />pissing outside, and my <br />boombox played it again, its notes <br />encircled by my poor shy ghosts <br />made quiet speeches to the wind <br />saluted this song's toasting.<br /><br />Daniel Nester<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/there-s-got-to-be-a-morning-after/
