This morning. Tending to things early. With the remnant. Of the night previous. In your down cantank. Rousing you surly.
Is it any call to agress. In moments few and jaded. Like a flown coop clawin’. Sacked and raided.
Mock agonist bely. The drawing light consumes. Now embarrassed in the guise. Of a temporary righteousness. The call to privation under such orders. Whelms against the figure.
And post tensing shyly decides upon it. Best kept silent when wanting. Only to lay a bit longer beside. The prospect and the urge to. Make one’s mindfulness alight. Upon sorrows quickly passed over. Why then could the music sound a cry. Drumming, summing, and stirring. The next chapbook and galley swag endevor.
Personal Writings 