—THE MORNING’S GOT ME ON THE ROPES AGAIN

 

Enjambment

I wake up enjambed, but don’t even know what that means, like an artifact without a date, and still you kiss me dutifully on my dry scalp, like a tulip tipping toward dew it doesn’t need, as the sun comes up, just as it’s supposed to, and then you shower, pomade and spritz, as usual, and the day goes on, and goes on again, like a run-on sentence that fills up an entire blank page no one ever reads.