Frankenstein Mornings

Frankenstein Mornings Morning breaks. The rays of light jut in. Sweet, bold flavor of coffee lingers on my lips.  I set to read, parse through words, break narrative into spirit-sustenance to interrupt the dread I feel at light piercing through night’s cold uncertainty, now hollow day.

Fog floats, and floaters jump,
making words full of motion and haze.
I focus through.

Inner rich dialogues of Frankenstein’s
impassioned missteps mirror my own.
Self-directed, scalding
igneous gestations
roil and stew in my spirit,
bearing contempt’s weight.

Joys of daybreak—
the meeting of another day
with longing’s sweet anticipation,
a pleasure out of reach.

Early morning focused direction,
absorbed into the life I’m building—
purpose, passion, pursuit—
splinters in the wake of nighttime fears.
Ghosts still bedside upon waking
seldom scatter.

The day begins with fatigued eyes,
mind a mess from frantic carousel spirals.
Day’s call to action summons me.
From a weary and dizzy spirit,
I find my way out the door.


Out into the great unfolding,
I once more return
to warm greetings, smiling faces,
riffing jokes.
Warm rays of light briefly
overtake me, and the fog abates.
The sweet counterbalance of hardship
takes form—this wonderful world
held in fragile sight.

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