MORRIS ALWAYS DIES ON WEDNESDAYS

[MORRIS ALWAYS DIES ON WEDNESDAYS]

Each poem is a gun

Loaded with blanks

Most times 

A long shot 

In the dark 

At ghosts

Shadows from too many Saturdays 

Slowly bleeding into dull nothingness 

Sundays blur

Mondays fog

One-eyed Tuesdays 

Target dry sentences

Wishing it were Friday

It's Wednesday now 

Lengthiest day of the week 

A heatwave’s never-ending tongue 

Stretching beyond the dying sun

Soft egg words hard boiling

Falling off incandescent terraces

Failing to hit solid mind ground 

Solid anything

Apprehending nothing 

A new month 

Just as empty

Morris doesn't care anymore 

▪️▪️▪️

#noirpoetry365 poem 027

NOIR POETRY 365 is a year-long creative writing project/personal challenge.

https://noironthevine.blogspot.com/p/noir-poetry-365.html