i've got the late winter early spring chilly morning blues
nose runs, throat drags its limping lymph-nodes lazily
raspingly grasping the edges of my teeth
wearisome wispy warbles wither within
the bus screeches, we all jump off
the wind howls, we tuck our faces
into the curving caress of hooded
duvets, I fall asleep in mine
whether I'm sitting or standing
tip tappering toes turn of their own accord
with the faint glim glammering hope
an orange
a losange
a small cup
of morning glory elixir
warm, frothy tendrils
reach up from my to-go glass
they blow kisses and laugh
at my grumbly human existence
my cheeks dimple of their own accord
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