a lone bird
calls out
to the rising sun
a bottle
shatters
loud as the
tentative fingers
of light
carve away
the night

for a moment
the affection
drawn upon
the cratered moon
is palpable
the dead satellite
shines with
stolen light
and i smile
understanding
far too well
exhibiting beauty
reflected
from an
external source
knowing that
ugliness is all
i will ever
manufacture

the lone bird
calls out
as the coffee drips
and i cannot
for the life of me
recall what day it is
or the last time
i managed to
string more than
four hours of sleep
together

am i
the moon
or the bird
an insipid fool
pining for
a life
i do not deserve
intangible
in a land
of hazy
misrecollections