71/365 - 75/365

Six old men resting
in barren arms of morning:
a murder of crows.

Across the back porch
after days of heavy rain
a snake slips in view.

Driving to visit parents a thought passed into my head—partly due to a lyric on the radio: viewing self as Adam, as Eve, and as the snake. Three quick stanzas—where reader decides which potion depicts which archetype, they blur—elements of desire, awareness, slithering. Use of self limited to “now” without an elaborate story or background…

Almost wrote a poem—
until procrastination
tapped on the window.

Stayed up past bedtime.
Suffering now with red eyes
and heavy limbs—sleep.

Waiting for a poem
to walk into the bedroom
and embrace me, deep.


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