Night is abbreviated long before
morning invades the soft tissue
of my eyelids.

Pigeons on a nearby tree begin
by disturbing the inner sanctum
of my slumber.

That barrier between two days
has been breached, the cocoon
of calm contaminated by cooing.

Nocturnal night mares nicker,
neigh and whinny, then hoof their
steel tips on granite cobblestones.

Another dismal day dawns, shave,
a declaration of a coming skirmish
between Id and Ego, (in the mirror).