Rising from the dull bed, unfulfilled and seeking to release some restlessness. Make another deposit in the bank of verse. Wrapping this blanket of importance around these broken shoulders.
There is a heart. There is a heart. More than just that little black marble in the wrinkled sandwich bag.
Pull these thoughts. Suck this mind down into the bucket of emotion. Funny thing about a barrel of laughs, when the party quiets down, it makes for lonely company.
Everyone’s asleep including the cat. Wrapped in a blanket of purpose, the poet sets her head on fire, mistaking it for a candle wick.
Works out well. With embers where the face was, she can finally sleep.