Morning

This is the half time between night and morning,
a wasted time, so climb over the wire,

a foreign arm smuggled on to my body, then gone,
copper light everywhere in my bedroom and a bird tape running,

ghosts banging bins and roaring, a half moment,
there are demanding voices, the start locked down,

observations out of myself, the stained paint on the ceiling
pictures of people from the middle of the earth

poem by Leslie Philibert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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