Secret Pop

Feb 12, 2002

Robert Motherwell

The later it gets, the earlier it seems.
The longer I go, the further I get.
The more I, the less I.

I can hear crickets. And the refrigerator humming. And someone coughing on the street. I can hear my own desire to be hearing all of this in my dreams. I can hear my reluctance to let sleep come. And yet when I listen, I can hear scarcely anything at all. The sounds find me, but the meaning eludes me. And time runs short. And sleep beckons.

I'm glad there is water. I am the bearer of a powerful thirst.

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