Bryan Bukowski Poems
- From The Cellar Door Drunken cellars attracting the quirks of...
- And All Continues On Have been drinking now for months, ...
- Far From Days Asleep with my thoughts counting eight hours a ...
- This Morning A Pinnacle The ideal public perch for this ...
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Far From Days
Asleep with my thoughts counting eight hours a day.
Feet raised up from the floor made light from a dawning night.
A chance to retreat from obedient herds, pressed from social routine.
Qualms resolving, answers arise with resting ease (through resting eyes) .
Cleansed for pursuit succumbed to the seduction of nourished sleep,
Bathed in dreams that rinse away the clotting swell,
That fevered toil cracking like mud, the filth of scavenged life.
Restored air flooding skin with a basking exposure,
Shunning that slickly sickness,
Benign, now far from days.