THE MORNING
An expansion beckons through light
Yet the lack of closure threatens as if it’s night
Squawking birds flirt with my ears
While inner chronicles explain sunk years
But a lining of bright yellow there is
On a sea of drab hit and miss
As more introductions reach my senses
So too a numbness seeps into my intentions
A motion here, a motion there
Some goop, some smell, some tells and some hair
Life abounds in a sleeping promise
Death abounds in a dormant crevice
What to do, what not to do, far and near, it all awaits
Beneath surfaces unseen, in the deepening dungeons, although growing steadily, fear abates
A small stub, at long last, pokes through the linen embrace
Then a world bears out, shrinking unsteadily, effacing and spacing, on my stalking face
Roy Editing and Critique 