Light breaks. I heed the
call to darkness, cup rich black
magic in my hands.
Morning ritual
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Light breaks. I heed the
call to darkness, cup rich black
magic in my hands.
A’s dream–a fairy
cottage in the woods–simply
too good to be real.
Weighing sleep against
productivity, I write
into a new day.
Booths shelter those hung
over, elbows tacky with
pancake syrup spills.
Short-term guests in my
fridge, pantry, cabinet — but just
until they are served.
Domestic mountains
rimmed with grime, sponge scaling this
Everest of suds.
Forgotten summer
umbrella aged by winter’s
wig of heavy snow.
Ate bad stuff. Gained weight.
Hate myself. Still, I think, There’s
always tomorrow…
I quit my job to
work on my haiku blog. Chance
of millions, slim / none.
Wisdom’s spark. Fortune
cookie poetry message
ignites hope change growth.