The Defeat Of Sunrise Poem by Gus Schreiber

Getting older, John the Savage
seems less and less romantic,
as I'm forced to forever remind myself
that my mind is an empty forest;
and it was twenty odd hours in
that the sunrise freed itself
from the grotesquerie of bitter contrast,
and as I rushed with nicotine and endorphins,
laughter freed itself from some foreign mouth
as I basked in submission
and had my night of groping search
put to lovely shame