a late waking for day draped in dread

i added ginger
freshly shaved
to the coffee grounds
this morning
an agonized skull
throbbing along
to the piteous whine
of valves half rusted
in my chest
my guts
feel like an empty net
trailing behind
a trawler
on an ocean of
insipid death
pulling
partially dreamt dreams
to the harbor
where all poets
eventually end up
on a bench
as their ink flakes
into the sea
of salty indignation
for words never read

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