It's past 7 and I'm in still in bed
Because it's Sunday, and God is dead
I roll over and grab my phone
Read through some bad, some good poems
My neck starts to hurt, weird position
I should get a different pillow composition
Is morning wood at 38 weird?
Man I need to shave, scruffy *** beard
I sit up, slide from under covers
Still rock hard, I need more lovers
Brush teeth, shower, shave, coffee on the stove
And to poetry mind, once again roves
This time to my own mind
This time to my design
This time to search and grind.