This Morning's Thought

Frigid footsteps, frozen ground, 

Wetting chucks in winter town. 

Tobacco soaked with drowning paper 

Hidden beneath whitened layers. 

Brush the dust, kick the curb, 

The front porch gathers winter turf. 

Timber pines, husks of sleep, 

Now it creaks into carpet green. 

To be continued... or probably not, 

Fuck it! here's this morning's thought.

(Written December 2017)