The Morning,

With the break of dawn,
And as the whores call it off as a day,
And as the urchins break their cold sleep;
I ride with pride,
Prouder than the Egyptians.

The morning bird’s song fails to attend,
My conscience.
The bitches’ fail to feed its broods,
Jobs fail to satisfy our incessant wants,
As the pollens fail to consummate,
In this thick dark air,

Our dimples go unnoticed and our scars, advertised!
But I don’t fail to catch the garish ads.
I fail to learn the ropes of chastely-
I learn to unwind the unwound.

The toxic dregs from the petroleum demons,
Surrogates the freshness of our innate mornings,
But its only the thoughts that speak,
The soul that gets hurt,
And it fails to penetrate our sunscreen laden bodies.

Those are good as carcass,
After that modernity meal,
So it’s the same night that reigns,
All dark and dull,
In the lights of this ultimate sultry power.

Cyril Abraham
14th June 2007