Morning's Broken Armor

Morning’s Broken Armor by Sy Roth Squeaky crawls the moon’s light Falling briskly against the chinks in the window Uneasy sleep A voluble accompaniment to An out-of-work cello. Scooting, crawly insects beat against it With a frenzy of scrawled brevity Tattooed on its soft shell. Horns bleat somewhere in the inky distance. Town criers bellowing news to a somnolent brain. Alternatives roll away from eyes Cemented closed with a.m.’s dream glue And the clinkety-clank of Sir Gawain’s armor Makes its way into the room. Declaring additional valid seconds Feet flopping like pimpled pancakes ready for turning To the cold floor The morn ready to mourn another day.