Room 95

July 22, 2011

It was nice to wake up
late every day
and not one thought
one shadow of guilt;
’twas nice to leave it a
mess and find it fixed,
to sleep a sleep
where nightmares were fat
and good dreams dress’d in gold.

One Response to “Room 95”


  1. this piece reminds me of the Todd Moore poem “6 year old”: http://outlawpoetry.com/2008/03/10/todd-moore-the-name-is-dillinger/

    scroll down on the page to read it.


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