My Problem with Sunrises - Dec. 25, 2023

I’ve tried to describe this face

accepting the warmth of that sun

as it plunges deep into this huddled being

with the soft agony of chilled fingers

clutching a steaming mug

it’s feels fraudulent 

sure   I have words to hand you

in the compressed pill of a poem

but why would you swallow it?

everything would be third

or fourth-hand lyrics

slightly sour from the sweet reality

who knows – quantum poets

might someday get there   

cut through the maze of feelings

pierce that fleeting smolder of light

grafted to the cold skin of a human being

and expose the emotional skeleton

though a challenge remains - transcendence

for the one who’s head is slightly

bent   sitting in a plastic chair

has jumped space-time

for an accidental heaven