Oh bathroom window, what are those ash-gray clouds,
needle in the morning’s eye —
dawn too early in its strange light-threading.
To 6am, I bring another party:
my thoughts, light and frisky in dark crevices,
champagne-splashed agent of chaos,
so loud, you say, they keep waking you up.
Suspicious of the day’s order — FB couples,
poets in their happy dresses — I say,
mum and dad, they fuck you up.
The early bird does not catch the worm.
I saw one writhing on my plate, 5 pm,
in yesterday’s winter dark.