10 February 2010

Cock Crow

Morning cock-crow mingles with
a dingo’s trenchant wail; dawn in
breaking yawns and fakes a
clumsy smile as puffs of dirty
clouds against a drably linen sky.

Forgettably a dingy day begins its
present tense; perhaps a hint of
rain exists in coolness yet to be
expressed before the sun returns
and shames an aching metaphor.

If seeking faith in breaking dawn
then go to sleep again; there’s no
relief in knowing truth pertains to
dreams in league with hapless
views retailed by sycophants.
© 25 January 2010, I. D. Carswell