Morning Glory. A poem.

The street cars and sweepers,
bird twitters, sidewalk seekers,
beyond my pane and pain are
my riotous alarm call,
a doctor’s silicone grip
bidding me to womb’s exit
to face gelidity again.
Trees shading the low-cut sun,
her rays breaking humdrum,
reborn and only just begun.
Distant voices natter
like roaches in my walls,
matching voices in my head
too soon before the fall.
And this first time do I pause,
take stock and then be damned
to despise the blessed thing I am,
until the day can take from me
all my pain, regret and lucidity.

I write a lot of poetry, some of which doesn’t appear on this website. For more poems, check out The All or the Nothing, my first e-book of poetry, available at most online book sellers.
Click here to buy a copy!

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