<u><b>morning haze</b></u>

the night is used up.


spent sleeping, wasted, twisted.


now wakes dully scratching


my pale goose-flecked skin.

last nights thoughts are now


the language of dreams.


jabbering nonsense behind moist eyes


against an inside vision, something


amazing, almost profoud.

that image --


internal, true but vague,


flares then smoulders,


fades so fast.


evades a grasp on real or sham.


percise translation decays


in the sparkling morning haze.