debt
Of
a
H a t st a n d
leaden burden sighs
too overly familiar
onerous chatterbox
clueless lingering
playing at bewildering
fingering moonscape scar tissue
a farce of threadbare
sackclothed habit
starts me up from
overwhelming reverie
Dark morn sings heavy pox since muse took
some vital dive and ate my words
Sure, some got rescued by tree beast and now it
dwells in silly mode
a link and the easy magic
rolling from bed to let my thoughts and
dreams is done and gone. Now, morning is just
me, the kettle, a microwave, and the
coffee pot and I better get used to it.
Thus, today is a new same old as I
take coffee and drugs and head upstairs
by Tardis to the muse with black keys and
switch on the shipping forecast and the yarn.
Now, where was I…
Grimbeau 