Dawn Dreaming
Finally, the light opens its mouth,
speaks for the fading shadow-forms,
that are slipping away,
over the pale moon.
Dogs sniff the freshening air.
Cats roll over, nap again,
for as long as it takes.
I used to smoke,
I would go out into the unmade dawn,
and smoke until the world
took shape around me.
Now I sit in a dark kitchen,
sip black coffee,
breathe through a deviated septum,
waiting for the next sucker punch,
or the birth
of a newly christened Jesus.
Last night, in an addictive dream
a spectral Amazon van,
delivered a box of Lucky Strikes.
I smoked them all by morning.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2023
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem.
Please
Login
to post a comment