Refinements of Focus

Like sugar in his coffee, melt the stars. So there's
truth, too, in mental maundering. Insomnia,
unintimidated, vincit omnia
while by black blots night ebbs downstairs.
The lean discrepancies of morning light
still interlace the morning and the madness
until prophetically a fine-toothed redness
combs out mare's-tails in vagrant overflight
inflamed across this windowpane. The room exhales
its single lurker. A brash winking air
greets him outdoors, instills a flare
candidly into a tear which swiftly spills
as tougher sunshine gathers, grins, usurps
the plain paradise of ambling along the curbs.

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