Poem-A-Day: Day 112

Light Slaps

Raggedy slaps in the face
from the light that breaks
through the blinds in silence.

Mute, unsightly mess on the floor,
watching the ceiling come to life
and reach down to help
clean up the pile that’s wasting away
the day, dreaming
of what happened the night before,
and the night before,
and the night before…
before…
before…
before boredom sets in like mosaic tiles
creating a fragmented picture
that seems to make sense
the further away it’s viewed.

The bed a partner in crime,
insomuch as it left a deathbed wish
to be left alone.

It hates to stink.

It hates to see the same mess
on the same floor
day in and out,
unless it’s the in and out
that makes the mess.

It has a twisted sense of morality,
that laughs circles around
the quiet pale, quite failing bedlam
that mars the carpet floor
morning to morning,
mourning the slaps that never cease
from the ragged blinds
come calling.