that's mrs. mediocrity to you

there is only the life of it

waking

stretching

holding court with monsters and jesters

jokers and cards

lightdark yinyang goodevil

all run together in the dye
you wash your clothes with

and you serve muddy grey soup
for supper

because it sustains you

but dawn always faces uphill
until you step to the left and

free

fall

into another subliminal sunset

tumbling down

down

down

into a play that shows you the dreams

you’ve already

forgotten

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A poem a day for 30 days, in honor of National Poetry Month.
This post is part of NaPoWriMo.

Also joining in with PAD (poem a day) over at Writer’s Digest.

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