Early morning, eyes start wonder , mind starts to ponder, about what does and dosnt really matter , a distraction to the pain and all the words that are knocking on my ear drums. My foot steps further down as I listen to sound of the 6 cylinder engine he continues to mention. All the problems and heart ake its enough to keep me awake. So I slowly put my dose of caffeine down and think what am I going to do now. I snap out of it the light turns red ,foots on the brake ,life is giving me another choice to make . I take a deep breath and answer back with the strength I have left. He needs more I guess its time for another job, a reality check in the form of his wisdom his problems become mine his sorrow because mine his sadness and anger fules mine. So I sit up straight and look towards the sunrise eyes burning souls still learning. I blink to find a tear escaping the prison I have set in my eyes. So I let it go to run free to dream and hope so fearless, that I envy it.
The grip on my disposable razor
Is tighter than the grip of my own reality.
Reflection distorted by the humid condensation,
I still see my hands trembling as I shave.
I still see the designer bags under my eyes.
The familiar aroma of shaving cream,
Paired with the sobering twinge
Of the nicks from my razor.
The haphazardly spilled pills,
Horizontal bottles in the medicine cabinet.
White-knuckling the porcelain sink,
Decorated with dried toothpaste and the blood of my gums.
I reflect to my reflection
Distorted by drip drops of tap water,
“Am I still myself?
Or simply a prospect of my own delusion?”
the cracks in the shades
make stripes along my sheets
eternity and death
laying beside me
it's time for them to leave
but their promises
will never vacate
the indentation on my mattress
their breathing, their whispers of truth
that progression is happening
that the world is spinning
that I am dying
spending hours assuming
that their touch will render me
into anything but a funeral
pacing in a skull
when they leave, I
am sure they will never
return. for this figment of my
imagination, has ended me
This is no citrus sunrise.
And this is no ocean, but forest,
stretching into its own infinity.
the news of your death this morning.
Black crows cry
and cross & stitch the sky.
The first morning I met you,
it was a blue heron that flew over our heads,
a perfect silence.
we meet by morning
you and I,
when our soft glow
doth light the sky;
when lovers wake
beneath the stars
we hide by day,
and guard with Mars.
we never meet
but always kiss
while our love hangs
in Heaven's bliss;
the world below
where lovers' touch
they nightly know.
play on, the fools
of love, play on!
and don't forget who
paints romantic dawn.
foisting up at the strop of yawn
at the bluffers worn
it is kildy and capy
i'm underly mistaken
i plonder on my clothing
and part the towd ranglings
blind are the dawnings
it's still a mite
at four gone the night
and more a tune til the mourning
i am blowtard and sworn
i mumble back to kibble
and a mount full of scorn
I need coffee
Before this coldness leaves my feet
Or the snowflakes fall any freer onto the city streets
I need such coffee inside of me
Because without it’s joy and prolonged warmth
I cannot be alive and well
Let alone this representation of me
So do not question before I wake
Just pour the coffee for goodness sake
And if I must make it myself
I will with a vengeance, a sleep induced will
Though once I’m awake I’ll wonder still
What dependency is this which I’ve built
The need to mix my water mixed with beans
Perhaps not the coffee, but it is the caffeine
Which gets me out and wakes me up
So that I might not feel asleep
As I am driving these winter roads
Saying dearest coffee would you please
Wake me so that I can feel at ease
In the morning is when I like it most.
When you've just woken up, and you forget where you are.
Yes, the morning is when I like it most.
When it is dark and quiet, when no one is a wake.
The cloudy skies and the cold represent my mood for the day.
The morning is when I like it most.
After the sun rises, the people rise too.
The day begins anew, but my peaceful morning dies too.
Yes , The morning is when I like it most.