scupper the dawn
   with curtains   redrawn
a self made mourning

a twisted stomach
chemical nervousness
this city heave     dawning

Early morning fingers
clutching at the sill
as I lay quiet, warm and still
half awake yet wrapped in night
not ready for the coming light
which filters softly through the blind
to **** my peaceful state of mind

tended
   in dreams    i am flossed at sea
only to be
   muttered and lost
           once upon awakening
un-present and tense

its these winter mornings
where any thought
of greeting
the dawning day
with warm thoughts
hopeful exuberance
and a positive outlook
will quickly be silenced
along with
the birdsong of
that overly optimistic alarm
that melody
so carefully selected
to ease consciousness
into a brightened state
of motivation
of joy
despised within seconds
immediately cut short
and resented for
its mindless persistence

the first excuse
a need for another
ten minutes
of warmth and comfort
to prepare
for the day
for life in general
perhaps
the second
a negotiated concession
that there was
no real reason
to get up
early anyway
finally
uncertain whether
in victory
   or defeat
the alarm will be
cancelled completely
along with the rest
of the day

Get that window open!
Go on, do it!

Feel the fat rotation of the planet
throwing a little spring our way
to poke our amygdala
and rattle our dormancy

and sure, we know at the back of minds
a bare faced bait and switch is in play
which means our twitching fingers
will seek to put the big coats in the loft
only with dismay to find the grey frost
return to bite our ***** mid-March

but we can dream and show some ankle
can’t we?

We hold out for this spring
harder than a man who’s lost nine digits
to frostbite
so we can point to where it hurts,
be heard,
aware that we’re linked,
a swarm of warmer hands
that need to hold, to cling, to brace
against this lingering, malingering pain

We’re ready to emerge,
but only together
and while inclement, duplicitous weather
still rages
we’re better, sadly,
caved

And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning,
with the passing of each night
there's always a fairytale dream,
never will it make me vulnerable
even the bravest yearn,
silently we all make a wish
to the moonbeam
for nothing's ever enough.
It's hard to put into words
a dream that doesn't change,
just that it's always a different place
yet a part of it tends to stay,
from your tiny black eyelash
to the enormous warmth
of your being,
in the thick of it all is me
standing there looking at you
what else can I say,
And then I open my eyes
yet another misty morning,
half a year has passed by
but my heart is still yearning.

- diljeev