Genesis, Wearily

Trying to coerce some poems 
from the sleepy depths of me, 
the shimmering chirps of insects, 
tree life, sifting with the lingering 
amyloid. 

No breathtaking surprises, 
no rellevatory turns of perception 
here, friend. 

Just the sound of a man 
counting filters in the 
ashtray, then standing 
to pour 
a second cup of coffee. 




**** 

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