Morning Duck

i'm brooding in the morning
tis my early morning habit
there's no poetry of ducks
on the ponds beyond the cabin

i'm brewing extra coffee
tis bitter to the tongue
i am breathing acrid smoke
it is filling up my lungs

then i glide like a dancer
of fuck you on messenger
and you rise to the stanzas
of fuck you on messenger
like a cold bird takes flight for the sun