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4:44 – By Rustin Larson

Posted on Jul 28, 2017 by in August 2017 | 1 comment

My guitar and I share DNA. Behind its strings sometimes,
some evenings, I put words to it,
how I am “a rat in a cage”

though I don’t sing this very loudly
for fear of the neighbor’s terrier.

When I use the public bathroom in the wee
morning hours, I hear from the adjacent stall
a squealing like that of a puppy or a guinea pig
or a vampire squatting there, his leather

wings folded around him.
When I go back to sleep, I can’t,
and so the early morning hours and I

share the same whispering stars.
Then at 4:44 a.m. all the birds wake up
and start worshipping loudly and excitedly—

Methodists in their finest plumage—
call and response—hallelujah, brothers & sisters,
hallelujah, hal-le-lu-jah!

Verdant is the world in its ripeness

1 Comment

  1. I love this: “Methodists in their finest plumage—
    call and response—hallelujah, brothers & sisters,
    hallelujah, hal-le-lu-jah!”

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