Temple

Temple

Temple

A Poem by Thomas John Nudi

Sleeping and waking

Are crooked bookends with thin,

Narrow bottoms too unstable

To hold upright—

If you flip them, there is more structure

But the rubber feet are on the wrong

End. They slide right off the shelf

As soon as the first loose

Dust jacket slips

From the rarest book.

Shadow of the Morning

Shadow of the Morning

Of Gentle Birth

Of Gentle Birth