morning phone call

i’ve awoken him
and he says come over
in a throaty voice
half-dreaming he talks about zombies
then snaps to and
remembers it’s me
remembers i can’t come
i think i hear relief
i subject him to morning ramblings
better than midnight ones
he’ll leave me where the guitars play
i speak of redemption
and debauchery
he accommodates
and i wonder where he was
when i was chasing the dawn
poetry on my mind
he was probably chasing the night

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s