A bolt of sunlight stabs the morning air,
my blinking eyes revolt at the disturbance
and curse the foul intrusion.
Traffic jams and bottle necks, without and within,
Car horns and sirens scream with shrill displeasure.
I should be elsewhere, among them, but a groggy mind
is robbed of all ambition, and so I choose to linger.
All impetus betrayed by a headache still deceiving,
cruelly enticing with dread temptation
the vicious instigating thirst.
Flop house floor, a bare and dingy mattress,
A belt removed from soiled jeans,
encoiled about my arm, a blind hand gropes to find
Plaster chips and window cracks, an enwebbed bug
embalmed in silken sheets.
"Just look at you. Get up, you filthy beast!"
An irksome voice rebukes. It's mine.
"Silence, scruples, go away," with palm, I pound
the head that bred the thought.
"and let me drown in peace."
About the Creator
Literary hobbyist who, in an act of sophomoric hubris, once dreamed of writing the great American novel. My ambitions having cooled since, I am now content to write for the pleasure of the craft and whoever finds my work of any interest.