"1st Place Winner of the Open Community Poetry Contest for the period October-December, 2011."--ed.
It starts in the brain.
Lingering fogs of morning hanging grey as the sun tries desperate to burn through with a moment of clear thought.
The milk still on the counter sweating sodden pools down to the floor.
A light is on in the room long empty.
Still the haze settles in the lowlands of the mind.
There are no words because there cannot be any.
There is no I for there is only dualities joining inside.
Mere survival awaits, anything else self-indulgence.
Poetry is decadence.
Bones are to be drained of minerals like mice gnawing in winter.
We must carry on comrade, though our back is breaking under the growing weight that does not allow sleep.
But sleep we must, again, again, though the day quickly passes.
Heavy it comes, pulling insistent at the edges.
We can fight it no longer.
