each morning
i sit with
coffee steaming
as the sparrows
hop excitedly
on the deck
awaiting the
monomolecular
edge of the
scalpel to open
a fresh wound
releasing a
flood of ink
in rancid decline
to pour across
cerulean lies

snapshots of a
shattered soul
refracting the
light she used
to shine so freely
now nothing more
than figments in
shadowed repose

pasting scabs
to tattered pages
chasing ghosts
as the razor
gleams in the
sunlight dancing
in tiny black eyes
wondering if today
the words will
find a safe harbor
from the tempest
raging in my
hollowed out skull

another offering
perchance to please
the heaven in
her crooked smile