the glum trumpets of morning

the glum trumpets of morning, bleat and swarm annoying
and never seem to pause to gauze a simple wound they caused
nor slumber when the mind would like to sleep without song
as all-day wrong, our misadventures prolong the short-end
of the shtick. but wick the dark candles we have no handle on.
and though woe begone; a woe begat a joy or two, regardless.
at the very, very heart of heartless, and the blood flows
from a numb start. just to start with.
and boom.
that's the heart
swirling in purposeful
fulfillment
to the very horror
of the ignorant.

and enigma.