Every Full Stop Poem by Tony Noon

I am laying here thinking about the way coffee
forces it's way through thick stone
into thin morning air, waiting for the early risers.

I am drawn back to a world of steam and grey
commuters, where warmth surrounds us,
clouding cold hearts and dreamless mornings.

There are days and weeks and months and years
like this, but many more which are not.
Hard to say if we are punctured or just punctuated.

Laying here thinking about coffee and steam never
solved anything. Coffee is a brief fix and steam fades,
but every full stop is one more chance to start again.


Tony Noon