when the Sun shines through the morning clouds
I swipe my forehead off
all the nightmares of the night
with my hands folded
I stretch my core open in prayer
seek alms from the hours of sluggish turmoil
my bed made of fur
enables me to keep awake through those dreaming hours
to write tale after tale
of poetic justice done to my sunlit days
when it rains in my town
it gets drenched till the wee hours
the town opens eyes to washed greens
drying in shades of opulent rainbows
cars purr at breakneck throttles
reaching nowhere through those jams
that I prefer to call marmlades
and the mornings share their toasted bread
with jugs of split orange juice.
