a sonnet

by jdavidcharles

sometimes in the morning you can’t
bring yourself to bend over and cut
your toenails despite their nearly
doubled length or roll barely out of

bed to the bathroom to brush off that
faint smell of rum from the night before
sometimes the daylight hurts so bad
you walk to get breakfast in sunglasses

and sometimes the poetry hits you
just a little too early with its far too
wide-open arms and you just can’t quite
bear hug it and lift it up or really

seem to fit it at all with its wet leaves
and wind shuffling the form of things

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