Good Morning?

[bennie]

The indignant fog procession of dawn doesn’t glide; it trundles, through eyeball mud and heavy, rattling bones inside tight skin.

Window cracks pour longing light at faceless, crumpled bed clothes and the inverted ticking of the clocks carries on like a warning, unanswered, as the scratching on the other side of the door becomes unbearable.

Outside of the coffee morning, bombs drop.

[Lightning Rod]

good morning me bonnie lad
your crusted eyes with caffeine tears
scalded cheeks slapped rosy by the palm of sleep.

good morning to you me bonnie lad
you dreamed a salad of artichokes and hand grenades
and tight-butted girls mocking your sleep

good morning me bonnie lad
kaboom