03 March 2008


The tension of tomorrow

collides with today

as the 60 watt lamp

at my beside

taints my darkened walls with

plastic light.

The books lie open, half-read…

prod my wonderings.

Are these 60 watts

counting down with me,

‘til I can again sense the dawn?


They can only hope

that I refuse the moon’s seductions,

keep the favonian breeze

from loosing my hold

on tomorrow,

from cooling my hot heart running

in disgust.

Welcome to the 12 o’ clock.

No comments: