Morning offers a handful of

Seconds hidden in comforting

Ignorance, where consciousness

Is at the end of a flickering

Tunnel, shrouding itself behind a linen

Curtain of eyelashes.


When the corner of the eye

Is pasted shut, defensively

Hiding thoughts that are

Too heavy to lie in the

Buoyancy of sleep, a god

Will take you in flight

Over lakes, evergreen and deciduous forests,

Childhood homes, European castles,

And towering skylines

Illuminated by Edison’s stars.


The theatre of the absurd

Projected to the inside of

An eyelid turns reels of the self, losing teeth,

Falling from heights unfathomable,

Unprepared for a calculus exam,

Losing hair in clumps, turning colors,

And running naked through rainy streets

Without an umbrella.


Loved ones recently gone take

Animated shape, offering advice

And a fine impersonation of

Tony Bennet, introductions to

Famous relatives you never knew you had.


The body heavy from immobility,

But light from fasting,

Parched from drinking from the

Gods’ gourds,

Will take a moment to stretch,

To sweep away the sands

And trick you out of the initial wakeful moments

When all seems intact.

While still horizontal,

You’d swear his lungs still inflate,

His veins pump blue blood

His hand extends an impossibly large mug of coffee

Instead of singing a passable version of

Just the Way You look Tonight.


The pillow remains unperturbed,

The bed empty, the grind of coffee beans

Silent.  Instead of mourning him,

You look forward to somehow finding