ONCE AGAIN ANOTHER GOOD MORNING
It’s not good for people
with thin skins & tenderness
to be around in the morning
when you scream the green bile
of confusion out of your soul,
cleanse yourself for another onslaught
against the long hours of waking reality.
Dreams are misgivings of the day’s nightmares,
coffee grounds of anxiety—thick, indigestible.
They accumulate along the walls of brain cells,
daring you the moment you awaken
to scrape them away with the steel wool
of animal vileness.
It’s only people I love
who I can really be nasty to.