Morning lifted its head,
leaden, impenetrable-
and Charles,
contemplating coffee,
the cold commute,
rote work awaiting
him with perfect patience,
felt his drab dreams,
hewn half-assedly,
slowly eroding as he pushed 50.
Of late, a second-rate
irksome exercise
he'd concocted
burbled in his muzzy brain.
Whether one could
consciously remember
the millisecond moment
when one slipped in
Sleep's sweet surrender,
guard-officially down,
a dear, sad clown
awaiting dreams-
all crystal clear
or fuzzy with clouds,
fog, forgetfulness and rain.
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