Email Poem

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Personal Note:

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Poem

Dawn is a gunshot. An explosion 
of high beams and church bells 
that shake your brain.  
Crawl out of dirty
linen cocoon.  Stand.

Your joints ache with boozy rigor mortis.
Pull your hands across your eyes; 
a rotting possum and a rusty razor 
gash your senses.

Fumble to bathroom.  Expel your proofed
personality into its porcelain tomb.
You’re a barroom medium, Dr. Jeckyll.
You hear Hyde screaming
from beyond the grave.

Pull off you Dead Sea stale clothes.
The faucet yawps and screams
like a dying animal. The ice cold water 
stifles your breath, drops
you to your raw knees.

Spring to your feet.  Pull back curtain.
Plant your wet feet on dingy tile.
Stomp to freezer like each step
is a shot glass slamming the oak bar.
Open and pull him from slumber.
Kiss his mouth, suck him dry.
Let him burn down your throat.
Saunter back to shower, Mr. Hyde.

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