Blank Slate Poem #4
Samuel Wharton

Sleep will unshell us, but not yet,
from our spiraled et-cets,
our &-all-the-rest blank spaces.
float before us, then disappear.
Cold induces end-of-year
tussles & while it's nice to put
a name to our dream-shot
lidless mindseye, if anybody
tells us to walk alone & bloody
through the midwinter aperture
just to deny what we're all sure
we've seen in lineup after
round-up lineup, well, our laughter
will resoundingly make
mockery of nobody. Anybody?
I'm going to take
a nap.

after a line by Larkin