This piece reminded me somewhat of a novel, in bits and pieces. "I spend my mornings with the birdsong and mist." -- I adored this line. It creates the images of this lone wanderer who never sleeps. I can't think of anything more beautiful than waking up to a misty morning filled with a bird's lullaby.

This was just really beautiful. :)

This is a great poem, Colm like always, but there's a lot of spelling errors in here that I don't see in your other ones. So I figured I'd help out with them. :D

"Why, your hair is forever a storm.
I do not own a mirror,
I am not of a [narcistic] narcissistic line.
I spend my mornings with the birdsong and mist,
My comb [doesnt] doesn't come out from its cabinet.

An old bus ticket fell from your pocket.
An [alcholic] alcoholic dropped his only bottle of gin,
I know of those who sit in empty bus station seats.
I walk under the gray promise of space.

You have no coffee left
And you have read that book before.
Yes, I cant even stand the pungency of [caffinene] caffeine,
My heart has beaten more times than I can turn page -
Sleep still eludes me
And I spend my nights like a lepoard.

Yes. Sleep still eludes you
when you spend your nights with me."

I wrote the correct spelling next to all the words. The ones in [ ]'s are the misspelled words. I hope that helps. Sorry to kinda murder it with spelling help, but I think it'd help the poem out. Take care, Colm. Keep up the amazing work.

-Heather