i feel drunk
when reading about drunks
looped
no bracement
i look up from the book
it's 6:45 a.m.
i'm in the hospital cafeteria
nearly time for work
in a stranger
i clock a face
struggling to become a face
publicly
she breakfasts
bent under a hood of hair
(she's not sure what expression
to let be witnessed )
i dodge her glance
overloom
the windows
make a massive jet mirror
reaching the full ballroom height
a shield onto hard darkness
protected from a primal cavity
the patrons are shied in its casting
a smudging forms at its base
the horizon beeking
an easing hint of winters sun
the glow is wanted
but it brings nothing new to its display
still a hibernal wash
i don't hum with these morning frequencies
they can be beautiful
but i pitch sickly
and i suspect
the stranger girl is also no dawn spark either