Surfing Up to November
Deep November,
a shallow time, nonetheless.
The snow is high packed with a cryogenic
amnesia.
Not yet dawn,
a sunken bed
muffles rising thoughts.
An eyelash of cognizance
flits across
thawing synapses.
Then the elastic nature
of sleep and wakefulness
snap alive!
November is howling still,
like a stray dog it scratches at my window -
wanting in.
For a while intelligence is a thorn in my paw.
Outside of the brain, November
is the same,
the darkness is still deep,
and friable as charred bone,
yet by now I am a candle flaring,
a flicker and gleam
within a neuronal time-machine,
and mind-surfing
on an ever-cresting awareness.
Copyright © Eric Ashford | Year Posted 2024
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment