Junkyard Of Old Wrecked Cars Poem by Dorsey Baker
Junkyard Of Old Wrecked Cars
Your brain
is stumbling around
in a fog
it gets less
sleep now
just a few hours
before morning
and you don't
enjoy the night
because all your dreams
are of darkness
the sun pulls you out of bed
you stagger around the room
looking for
your walking stick
which is hiding
somewhere
in plain sight!
Tuesday, June 23, 2020
Topic(s) of this poem: life
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5/20/2024 9:28:57 PM # 1.0.0.1119
