Sleepy Monday Mariner Poem by nathan martin

drifting, drifting with heavy eyelids
in and out of our conversation.
pilgrim to your words i wander,
circumventing around the room to
follow strait edged symetries.

cloudy, foggy, i cannot rise through this vapor.
so i settle in a cup of dark coffee.

then fogbell foreheaded stumbling
into iceberg corners of desk and chaires.
like roald amundson i drift narrowly down the isle
along the northwest passege of my cubicled sobriety.