some mornings are never meant to be
anything more than the slow stripping of
yesterday's cracked dreams
so i can see
the first long glance of the day
stare over the grass
and take my place in bed
settling like honey into the cold folds
while i bitter my breakfast with the doubts
that keep me up to see
the dreamless face of today
and it feels so good to be cold
when nothing else will embrace me
except for the slow color of dawn
like a coffin, a womb, or the sea
some things you can only die in
and some i can only leave behind
doubled over and whiskered
with the question "Why?"
just to spend my nights
trying to lovingly comb answers
out of my darkest strands of hair
while my bare feet wait
for the concrete day to come
and crack the egg of the morning
over my sleepless head
so they can run me into the light
like some golden kite
that can only dance before the dusk
trailing behind it with every jump and jig
but my feet can wait for just a while more
because some mornings are never
meant to be a road
just a rose, or a crow, or a wheel,
or a loan.

06/15/2008

Author's Note: Drunk at dawn.

Posted on 06/16/2008
Copyright © 2026 Peter Hsu