ts too early for color
the uniformity of cold can grasp
this is the loneliest hour
i stare at empty streets
lined with the castaway sheafs of glimmered plastic
and wet paper wrappers
i cut my jaw earlier then this
in a haste to scrape
the short stubble from my face
it is when i stare intently
focus at myself
that i see who i am
the profound pathectic nature
of me, crashes
i saw the blue plastic razor
clatter in the white sink
down in an impulse
of dissapointment
waxing poetically
in the early morning is usually
detrimental to my day

10/05/2004

Posted on 10/06/2004
Copyright © 2026 Travis G Finborg