Like Paper Money

Glen Armstrong


I lie down and the night
climbs on top of me.
It’s supposed to.

It has a funny way
of thinking about sleep.
The weeping willow

picks up steam.
Or maybe fog.
It looks in the mirror

and sees poison,
but it can’t remember the word
for poison.



Glen Armstrong holds an MFA in English from the University of Massachusetts, Amherst and teaches writing at Oakland University in Rochester, Michigan. He edits a poetry journal called Cruel Garters and has three recent chapbooks: Set List (Bitchin Kitsch,) In Stone and The Most Awkward Silence of All (both Cruel Garters Press.) His work has appeared in Poetry Northwest, Conduit and Cloudbank.

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