August 30, 2019

• props

  

   

  you can tell i didn't write this play.
  the backdrop is all wrong
  and the most important props
  are missing--props as in:
  that which held me up.
  
  props on which i leaned.
  nights are split down the center
  and dawn is slow to appear
  having forgotten the script
  words line up like reluctant ghosts

  you see how bad it is?
  the scenery doesn't fit the scene
  (if that makes any sense)
  outside the sky explodes with color
  the sky exhales

  its breath all gold and glowing
  there were mornings...there have been
  mornings in life that cut
  like a guillotine
  searching for the soft throat of dreams

  there have been days that were
  little more than apologies and promises
  and stolen moments
  and every dream smelled like hurt blossoms

  when morning broke into shards of sunlight

  • 5:50 am
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