Categories
Poetic Leanings

Sleepless

It is too late to think of books and words and plans and stories and histories and his story. 
It is too late to drink the bliss of a couple of green stubs of stilled pain. 
And it is much too early to get a head start on morning traffic. 
The city is fast asleep
Would that I was there too.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.