Poem 270

The ultimate gloomy Sunday gloaming poem … someone barely hanging on to their choices, holding out to feel the bleak rocks of Monday morning beneath them again, for routine to take over …

( I like night’s leady pencil, the image of headlights coming on as bursting open, the ice shelf darkness, and the way today turns into tonight … )

Another Sunday I Nearly Came Back To You

Five in what is laughingly called the afternoon
night's leady pencil driving into hearts
on the highway shaking cars
until their lights burst open
                                                 the windows
silt from grey to black
                                       if I pull the curtains
it will mean I'm not going out again today
if I pull the curtains
switch on the lights
read a book
cook dinner
fall down
                 curled asleep
in the ice shelf darkness it will mean
I'm not going out again
    tonight

if in the plastic minutes before twelve
I don't wake it will be again
Monday morning
                                    at any hour
                                    any weather
                                    unsuitable for almost anything