He came home. Said nothing. It was clear, though, that something had gone wrong. He lay down fully dressed. Pulled the blanket over his head. Tucked up his knees. He's nearly forty, but not at the moment. He exists just as he did inside his mother's womb, clad in seven walls of skin, in sheltered darkness. Tomorrow he'll give a lecture on homeostasis in metagalactic cosmonautics. For now, though, he has curled up and gone to sleep. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...CONTRA MORTEM: THE GREAT DEATH by HAYDEN CARRUTH I'M GOING BACK TO SOMETHING by DAVID IGNATOW LOHENGRIN; PROEM by EMMA LAZARUS A MAN CHILD IS BORN (1839) by EDGAR LEE MASTERS DOMESDAY BOOK: FATHER WHIMSETT by EDGAR LEE MASTERS |