The birds are screaming this morning,
and the lawn mower is throwing rocks,
The headstones are like windshields after rain
blaring the glare of the sun.
My eyebrows press my skin to creases,
and my coffee tastes like mud.
The strangest part is I haven’t been drinking,
I’m just hung up on the delusion of love.
With a hangover from too much love, is the cure some hair of the dog? – mh clay