the skeletal
branches scraping
slate gray skies
beguiling
a faux winter
feel as i sip
coffee and
nurse lavender
clusters from
the silence of
the living room

the kids are
still asleep as
the birds sing
triumphant tales
of verdant fields
a serenading
symphony in softly
whistled snatches
proclaiming the
glory of pseudo
springtime in
dreary gray texas

the skies are
an unbroken sea
of dull cumulus
no planes circle
just the occasional
verse of avian
poetry filtered
through the sounds
of the ocean as
performed by the
dishwasher in an
abrasive case of
fixed white noise

a fool sits alone
coffee steaming
as he stares out
a beguiling sense
of wintry malaise
blanketing a quiet
monday morning
the frantic pull
of a long weekend
sputtering into
another two weeks
in an auspicious haze
of heartthistle sighs

stumbling drunkenly
over heaping piles of
discarded declarations
skeletal branches
carving the gray
as phantom fingers
trace the bruises
blossoming in
patches of
yellowed green
dissociating as
the dishwasher calls
a womblike crescendo

the pressure builds
into a panicked
sense of acceptance
my pulse bellows
a counterpoint to
electric purple
needles piercing
in fevered patches
standing nude in
a shower of sparks
unflinching as the
blisters form in
the shape of kisses
down my tattered flesh