27 Minutes Later

Shut.
Back to bed.
And ache are
the bones and
the head has
stellar needles.
Pricking,
I have this
internal nuisance.

Sleep is
never an
occurrence.
Shut again.
My back is
spoiled and
brat is my
bed and oh
this is my
hiatus.

It is like
making myself
a cup of coffee
and 27 minutes
later I am
my new self.
That’s it.

 

2015

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About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
This entry was posted in Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

7 Responses to 27 Minutes Later

  1. LOL! All it took was coffee??

  2. Sleep is my favorite habit. When I feel like company, I ask my friend to make us coffee and I be over soon.

  3. stanza two is standout delicious

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