Sleepy Monday Mariner

drifting, drifting with heavy eyelids in and out of our conversation. pilgrim to your words i wander. circumventing around the room to follow strait edged symetries. cloudy, foggy, i cannot rise through this vapor. so i settle in a cup of dark coffee. then fogbell foreheaded stumbling into iceberg corners of desk and chaires. like roald amundson i drift narrowly down the isle along the northwest passege of my cubicled sobriety.