-Waking the Drunk

A slow september sunrise
Suffued with
Reds' purples oranges
spilling softly through
the settled fog.
The air thick with
Red fog;
Like his mind.
A rainbow of hues radiate
through his mind.
His rudimentary ways of communication.
today his head rankles with red.
It spills out of his eyes and mouth
He cannot control
But as the sun rises and the fog clears
So do his eyes and his mind.
He is under the impression
that his eyes are shrinking back
to normal proportions.
They do not feel so bloated as they did.
Now their dryness only needs a blink
To assauge. He douses them
With strong thick stygian coffee.

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