In a Manner of Speaking
It’s a faux sleep that brings on
rapid eye contortions with
each ghostly hour of the new
morning, where I break surface
to battle with semantics
between salvoes and broadsides.
On intermittent days, you
and I are swallowed whole by
the lugubrious crawl of time;
by the authorship of said
clauses that dot the margins of
our own ill defined said articles.
And look at us now; quietly crumbling
apart like a couple of doddering meringues.
©️Orion Foote, 2022
Visions of Orion Poetry 