Pythagoras and me at 2:00 a.m. waiting

.
I could be up all night
without one line to write

I might be ass-in-chair till first light
eyes propped with toothpicks

I might sit with digits
poised above a keyboard

like condors on thermals
scanning the earth for a bite,

the page’s desert dry and white
Might even catch a little moon-talk

(She speaks, you know
—whispers to Venus when I turn my head)
……………………
So then, how would I know what she said?
—telepathy, a poets curse —or worse
””””””””””””””””””””””””””””’
imagination with it’s ears perked
for a little music of the spheres

—an old-hat idea that occurred to a Greek
once who was also up almost in tears 

way past bedtime waiting for a theory
or the sense to hit the sheets

………………………….
Jim Culleny; 2008

………………………….

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