Mornings

I know I'm lucky

for each new one.

I do.

But when they come

marching into your skull

to the drum

of the screaming next door

And your eyelids

sit defiant

clutching your eyeballs

And your brain

blows smoke rings

where words or ideas should be

Sometimes the new morning

looks an awful lot

like it's come dressed

as an old morning

and you can't help but feel

it's waiting for you

waiting to do something to you

and you don't know why

and you don't know what it is

but it's hard to feel good about it

Jared A. Carnie recently left the Outer Hebrides. He hopes to have his debut poetry book out by the end of the year. He can be found at prettyneet.wordpress.com. Although it would mean more to him if you visited freckles-and-all.com.