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NaPoWriMo Days 8 & 9: AWP Silliness

I regret to inform the readership of a lack of poems for April 10 and 11 — the conference/traveling will be my excuse. I promise to write some extra poems so I end up with enough for the whole month. That’s probably cheating.  I’m okay with it.  Here are poems from days 8 and 9, in Denver, at the AWP Conference.

Conference Nightcap
 
The whiskey on my breath
could make my roommate dizzy.
But I pour another inch;
such drinking is too easy.
We conference til the pens
had finally run dry;
my roommate’s contact lenses
were soldered to her eyes.
 
The program in my bag
is thicker than the Bible;
the keynote, at the end,
was like a tent revival.
 
I’ll have just one more sip
then tuck myself in bed.
I do this every year
and still I am not dead.
 
 
 
How I Will Sleep Tonight
 
Between crisp, cool hotel sheets
on the 29th floor.
 
Snoring the dry, mile-high air.
 
I have eaten and drunk and gossiped.
I have ridden the express elevator
up along its perfect steel spine.
I have slipped the coded plastic card
into its slot turned the handle.
 
The hotel’s white noise
starts a dulling opiate
inside my brain.
 
Near midnight, I teeter on an edge,
and I know the depths will draw me down
and down like breath into
the spider-silk hammock
of not even dreaming.
 
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