Blesok no. 58, January-February, 2008 Poetry

From “Fire Stations”

/6 p. 1

A.B. Jackson

Night Work
The Sleeping Gypsy
Saturday Night
Blackbird
Acoustic Mineral Wool
The Silken Road

_______________________________________________________________________

Night Work

    after Roberto Juarroz

As I sleep, my two hands come awake
and work their craft, create or unpick
some halfway human body, stitch by stitch,
play Frankenstein all night behind my back.

I hear them, from my sleep: I hear them groom
this bastard demi-ghost, this bloodless golem,
doctoring its life, its other death.
I wake, with two hands folded on my chest.

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