In the Morning 

I don’t know if she likes the morning, nor if I do either.

But today’s a clear peach and pastel blue.

It seems the toll of work and divorce have hollowed this Lucian girl.

Our Blue Mountain blend yet to be had.

She has a home, sons and plans to renovate.

In the morning she’s ripped from the sanctuary of the night’s implausible ether

Again she all anew performs perfunctory morning routine. Awoken defeated.

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PhD

He’s accomplished nothing,
his life a watered downs success,
a “skidder” was it?
His hands filled and emptied
in times unrelenting passing.

The smartest man in the room
-the pin his satin lapel sports.
A cut glass vernacular
affected by a crude Kingstonian drawl.

He amongst his Muji décor,
pours Oolong tea in a sole cup.
His community an artificial complex
continuing his saga of solitary emancipation.

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