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.
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