Poetry

Captive (The Sandman’s Heavy Hand)

Face slowly sliding
from my skull
drawn down by the
great weight of my lids
Jowls now sagging
to my clavicles
What a sight!
Poor me!
Fatigue’s fading captive
and all the coffee beans
in Indonesia
ground to powder
prove useless
to keep this
wilting flower
from returning to
Mother Earth

and slumber

Categories: Poetry

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