Morpheus channel
surfs
he’s drunk
the mini-bar
now he's tuning his guitar
a plane crawls over us
on our motel wall
tall ships too close
dirty ripped
askew
on the sallow wall
he calls for pizza
I turn over
tall ships too close
dirty ripped
askew
on the sallow wall
he calls for pizza
I turn over
I so enjoyed this! Thank you. "...a plane crawls over us" is brilliant.
ReplyDeletegood poem, Sarah — I imagine you are no longer in the arms of Morpheus!
ReplyDeleteMorpheus is back!
ReplyDelete