some mornings

there's an ugliness to the world

some mornings.

the headline of the black and white
paper
a cold
baton
on the porch.

the way the trees have fallen in
the woods.

tumbled upon each other
in the cold
rain of night.

their grey trunks, having
given up.
the others, young and strong

still holding them up.

there's a bitter chill
in some mornings, waking up

with the taste of a bad dream
in your mouth. having not slept well,

but got stuck on some past
mistake.

the sand in your eyes of
some desert you crawled through
to get to
morning.

there's an ugliness that you
try to shake off

with a shower and coffee,
the dial of the radio, settling
on

an old song you know
by heart.