woke up to a hangover -                                       yore
a groggy amalgam of short-lived stays.
all was  awhirl  trying to recall and separate
trudging up your chestnut streets
from these unsettling days.
where boss grey shakes a bony finger
at your conch shell chromaticism,
and demands my resignation.
shhh...just a dream...close your eyes...that's it...good...
now, drifting back, i hear you laughing full and hearty
as i plunge through a pillow-scoop
of your neopolitan.

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                                        Or visit his site Cstrings

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