I storm to my waking place
and serve no master save time
I linger far afield in extraneous metaphors
slumbering in a pillow’s kingdom
with too much joy
in my never there.
the crooked cookie is more how the morning
is a midnight on a bender.
a whiskey halo with a tumbler of divine angst.
wall nuts and hemispheres
swimming in tandem.
gorgeous wheels of sobering