on a purview of a misty morning
I cast only the ugly hour of the night
it isn't in a faint recollection
that I preside in those hours
of Ugliness, and quirkiness for
I enjoin in the delight now of
The morn that preside, on my
lovely room in its insides
I reside in that light
buried in books and bold sights.
I write to forget
I read to connect
and I sometimes forget to view
the insides from a purview.