Untitled

Is my hair on fire?
It is the darkness
It is the cloud that hovers it
The dismal fog and fade
From destination
(II was once propelled by its heat)

Now a smoldering
Now a dissension in the ranks
This un-twist of plaited red
And amber
And just a glint
But fading gold

And just a glint

Enough to keep me wandering
Wondering

Bits and pieces
Shoes tossed across the room
My clothes piled in a corner
The smell of coffee scorching on the burner

Tomorrow I might rise and clean the mess
Tomorrow I might rise
Today I just go to bed