by krstaten

I wake up and something
pops. I wake up and
something is already out of place.
A slipped disc sunrise
taunting, calling forward every fear
in a perfect color gradient
of a sarcastic pink to a somber
stone gray. I wake up

and nothing is singing but my breath
clouding the air, the sputter
and grumble of the car engine,
the groaning suspension–life
giving life to life, morning
giving motive to hope.

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