Eugene S.

Boxes

The sun rises slowly
deliberately
to illuminate a dark sarcophagus
of fractured dreams

disconnected
seemingly random
indistinct moments vying
to make sense of the night

to make sense of the life
now stirring
reluctantly
desperately grasping somnolence

Eyes open to a dim corner
three lines connecting
structured
a containment for lost dreams

the warmth of slumber
a soft embrace
fleeing
as reality materializes

into conscious starkness
brilliance
and hard lines
accentuated by a screaming clock