backstreet mornings
i shrug
last night’s sleep −
refuse to walk it
blindfolded
while deafened
suburban nightlife
clings to dreams. the harvest
of close country
prefers synonyms
for its sprawling
estates −
developments
has such ambiguity.
silence cannot beat
the early carolling Magpie
or the dawn light
Blackbird forager.
40 minutes exercise
diminishes my stridency −
vehicle ruination
jump-starts into breathlessness −
white flags me towards home
