Morning Is Weary

Morning is Weary


The morning is weary my eyes speak to she
who sleeps on the pillow where my body used to be
The terrible street sinks its claws all into me
with persuasive dreams of rust’s discovery


Now what is the sickness that swims through my brain?
Are there bats in the tower or rats lost in the maze?
I’ve seen wandering soldiers without candles continue
trudging the darkness which surrounds to suffocate


But just like a leaf that tumbles unseen
slipping through the careless changing fingers of the wind
I know something brought her breathless to this sleep and to begin
loving the scoundrel whose tall shadows on the walls are going dim


So one day he steps forward and the next he can’t speak
and the safe shield he assumed falls broken in a heap
until there’s nothing but truth like garbage at his feet
and he must stare into the scraps and take back his courage


To scorn hesitation newly born from this doubt
To breach his own reflection and return from without
while the walls march around hanging space across her skin
hoping for more time to erase her from him