thar tis
Green-yellow spear-leaves radiate through the window screen,
pregnant with the hope that resurrects perennially after the completion of the ten page draft.
Sleepy neurons nourish each other once again
hours after the all-nighter. Already a more benign stream
of consciousness bathes me,
steamy and warm like wet terrycloth.
Face flushed with pink capillary glow,
My higher-order cognitions reassert themselves.
Now a razor cuts through the foam to remind me
I am not the beast that all four cups of coffee pronounced me to be at 2:49 A.M.
And yes, yes I do feel that God is there again.