Ratted Out
After dinner come several lush lutes.
While we were at play, my wife went to hunt,
and brought her bow here
to the hole of a fleet rat
at the bottom of a bed.
Poems on the topic: bed
Poems on the topic “bed” on Poets.by.
Stunt Double
A strange thing, how every day
I am private eye for a statue,
set up in exchange after I fell
to writing, to morrow, to bed.
Feckless
A wind set my things
in better order, and I ached
for a serious purpose.
The rain coming
upon my bed, I went
and lay with the wind,
rocking till ten.
Gain and Ache
Gain and ache are the greatest guides.
We lay with women, being pretty handsome.
We went to bed, being somewhat ill,
afterwards disputing for and against
extemporary prayer.
Rite
We lie still, she on me—effigies
making a great whispering,
satisfied and soon hushed.
Vice-tested, we sup
in the master bed.
The Seafarer
All things go to sea;
I went to fat.
All things wash to bed,
I cold and coughing.
Mindless
Thinking out of the box,
my mind left.
Little to do but school a school in being,
a man buried in being.
Brain or pot? Water or wine?
Other things make a kind bed.
Terrorists under the bed
bed like a state
with no land but the ink
of a great loss
all the clerks in a closet
and the much-cried green dragon
just under this very line
Under the bridge
sitting alone in the dirt another’s bed
Water water
water is a book
full of tautologies
weary to the ear
I wake in the night
on my waterbed
weary journal
Handheld
In bed I talk
to my hand
in rising hopes of going out
with the fleet hand of a woman
a hand ready to run
home to the chest.
Salaryman
I lock my use up in work
to own the top troubles.
Think of my office:
an all-afternoon coop.
I count to go to bed.
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