Between the best time to write and dawn
there are night poems. They are between
Vietnam and the third world (those two
wars) for now. Sunset is over and thus
purple, orange, and green will not make
an appearance in this night poem. Rather,
artificial light, tiny imported oranges,
and lists of three items will dominate.
Also, intimations rummage dreams
in the nearby slumber of greater
darkness. This lesser darkness
reveals the wind, which a night poet
must fear and revere, for the worship
of the clouds is lower than the watching
of the stars. At night, passive voice. At
night, feminism and its caffeinations. At
night, middle brow literature and a movie
with a middle finger. The night poem strives
to relax. The night poet strived to relax.
Roman Ryan 