The Hamlet Project

That the morning is a particularly vulnerable time
For contagious blastments
Is news to me, though the vulnerability of morning is not.
Waking, bleary eyed, I curse it, quite regularly,
Unable to fight off evils or sharp emails
That might not slice me open at another time of day.
Coupled with my moans and grumbles,
Perhaps my breathing is deeper
Perhaps the things that are bourn on the air
Or in it
Find more open door
As the sun starts its ascent
As the dew dries on the grass
As the light stretches across the ground.