Mr Sun Poem by (TPAC) Alexander Coppedge

A sun drops beams, it's by downed rays, sways, touches aim, the ground, at dark, destroy displays; set its visuals; pathways.

A light, a dawn's hark, it to us, a morning, put its bark, attack cave's night, peels dark off wall, melt hot away; dew in a park.

These rays, wood home hit, warming heat, bring sting, flick spark through glass, glow seen ping, a crystal; sing low: shade.

These fiery slices, about, do a search, put dices, at my bed's edge paces from, snores faker, intents one flare; ices: to hit my face.

Sunlight, flat wall, to call to me, emerging all rays, sight a ball, suddenly at my bed tip, aimed hi; it's playing: enjoy a new day.

In upper air, in a mirror its spin, tingle a pair, turns beam this back-tip, a flip, touch heat hair, nearest, it comes fair to my neck.

A dot, zooms forth, stop suddenly, tip along, atop of shoulder, a dip down, slip, got chip shot, both eyes; a hit: blasts blinds.

Dark, found I am in, hell-silent gloom, pull me out of, tell sun it up, creep, a funny joke, echo at good yell; bell sounded: cheer.