There is an evil moment
on awakening,
where all things seem to

pause.

When eyes jerk open to
blankly study a room
caressed a million times or more, stuffy head confussion.

Air thick as jello,
coffee and cigarettes on the tongue;
All do thier best to
pull attention.
That elusive dream
riddled
with supposed symbolic insight,
it was just hanging there.
Somewhere.

All the work
of the night before
washes through
chalk fingernails of consciousness.

Groan, Moan, Stretch, Pop.
Start for the mirror.

03/27/2003

Posted on 03/28/2003
Copyright © 2025 A.M. Demarco