the coffee brews
a percolating cacophony
in the silent morning
threatening to wake
the petulant sun
stretching just beyond
the eastern horizon

i forgot what it was
to have this broken sleep
after a month of fevers
and ten hour dream loops
with brief moments of
panicked flailing for
half drowned wet gasps

trading in never enough
to ease the sickness as
it ravaged my weakened old
system for a new not enough
the same as the insomnia
that was the classic mode
of dream denialism before

never thought i would be
happy to see three o’clock
the witching hour once again
as the ceiling listened to
a new round of the same old
bitter lamentations with
a new veneer of sloppy odes

i am reborn the same old
bastard i was before with a
slightly more discolored
outlook on the ignobility
of this semi existence that
feels as plaguelike as the
plague without the sleep

the words are coming back
with the sparrows and the
miserly sun that refuses to
wake before the coffee is
done percolating in a show
of solidarity with a fool
just as lost as always

yawning my way back through
the empty parking lots of
dour dallas as the concrete
cradles an insurgency of
multicolored lights that do
little to hide the festive
filth of a failing society