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You're listening to Away with Words. I'm Grant Barrett.

And I'm Martha Barnett.

Lately, I've been having a lot of fun with a collection of poetry.

It was edited by the former poet laureate, Robert Pinsky.

And the book is called Essential Pleasures,

and these grant are poems chosen specifically because of the pure pleasure of reading them aloud.

And it's really cool, and it even includes a CD of Pinsky reading several of the poems.

And I tell you, the one that caught my eye, or I should say caught my ear, is one that was a description of, of all things, a headache. And I want to read some of it, too, okay?

Okay, please.

When you're lying awake with a dismal headache and repose is tabooed by anxiety, I conceive you may use any language you choose to indulge in without impropriety,

for your brain is on fire. The bedclothes conspire of usual slumber to plunder you.

First your counterpane goes and uncovers your toes, and your sheet slips demurely from under you.

Then the blanketing tickles you feel like mixed pickles, so terribly

sharp as the pricking, and you're hot and your cross, and you tumble and toss till there's

nothing twixt you in the ticking. And then it goes on to describe this really crazy dream,

and then get this when the person wakes up, you're a regular wreck with a crick in your neck, and no wonder

you snore for your heads on the floor, and you've needles and pins from your souls to your shins,

...