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Entry tags:
Poem: Shipping forecast
Early morning wake-up call
"Wrong number,
sorry."
I lie in bed and curse the ceiling
as the dark room fades to dim-lit dawn
surrender; thermostat clicks on and off
as radiators gurgle.
Sleep is on-and-off fragments.
When sun comes up the phone is silent.
"Wrong number,
sorry."
I lie in bed and curse the ceiling
as the dark room fades to dim-lit dawn
surrender; thermostat clicks on and off
as radiators gurgle.
Sleep is on-and-off fragments.
When sun comes up the phone is silent.