dawn’s relapse

the sun always
seems to rise
no matter how
catastrophic
his mind becomes
a morning comes
where the coffee
percolates
he twists open
the hanging blinds
light floods
a room of shadow
exposing truth
to a sleepy fool
birdsong swells
the gloom is
albeit briefly
dispelled again

a solar powered
dream machine
recharging slowly
as the sparrows
trill joyfully
among the hanging
skeletal branches
the icy dismay
melted under her
golden embrace
for a moment the
infinity of anguish
becomes just another
trail of spectral
kisses coursing
along raw nerves
an overstimulation
in dawn’s relapse

he sits alone
a tumorous sunspot
desecrating the day
where promise hovers
over the tongue
of dancing flame
a greasy smear
in semi-human shape
divinity in abhorrence
staining eternity
saturated fully
a gas soaked rag
tucked carefully down
the neck of a wine bottle
as the sunlight streams
through myopic
magnifications to ignite
a revolution of sparrows

3 thoughts on “dawn’s relapse

      1. I guess that’s true. When I was young my mom asked me why I never drew anything pretty. I hadn’t thought what I drew was ugly… but she said it was grotesque. I told a friend who drew beautiful portraits what my mom said, telling her that I couldn’t draw like her. And she told me that grotesque can be beautiful too. Beauty in the eye of the beholder… crushing beauty… ?
        Anyhow, your poems are intense and beautiful… even when they hurt.

        Liked by 1 person

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