Good Morning


The bird is up.
So am I.
He makes a cacophony of his morning.
I write.

I simmer over lines
as morning treads in softly;
like some old movie
where they crank up the brightness.

There is no waft of coffee here;
just the sear of a sun bleary-eyed,
you need to open your eyes.

Read me.
There is a bird in these lines.

And some cacophony.

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2 Responses to Good Morning

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