THE SUN DRIPS

its Saturday morning mercy
through my bedroom's slats.
I've taken off today
to parts unknown.
Perhaps,
one word
will follow
or trail behind
another
until something
is formed
that resembles
nothing else.
It's a poor excuse,
I admit,
for living,
but it's the only one
that's ever made
any kind
of sense.

Norman Savage
Greenwich Village, 2013