5:00am and folding laundry

when the inspiration tank is yellow lit,
and E stands for more than empty,
but evacuation,
try this remedy,
a first generation family secret!

fold the laundry.
all kinds.
his n' hers,
blacks n' whites
really clean and

and the kind that never get clean,
no matter how much d e t e r-g e n t
you use, how oft you wash 'em...

Instructions:

1. fold only when wearing t- shirt, tank top, briefs (optional)
2. put on Pandora 60's rock n ' roll (folk rock - highly recommend Runaround Sue by Dion and the Belmonts, The Wedding Song, The House of the Rising Sun)
3. dance, shake, improve your moves when nobody's looking
3a. control yourself, if you must sing, at the top of your lungs is not acceptable.
If alone skip, skip to no. 5
4. every third piece give a sniff, get high on
fresh starts, clean notions, the idea that all can be washed away
4a. Every third piece of hers give an extra sniff,
so you can know why love keeps you alive
5. if you have to sing, then only loud is acceptable
(***** the others, you're doing the folding, they're sleep-dreaming)
6. drink lots of water
7. have pen + paper handy cause ain't no doubt
the poet puppet muse masters gonna smack you down
when folding sheets alone.
8. finish the write and post it ASAP
9. always leave the single socks on top of the dryer,
a prayer to the laundry gods for the
safe return of their better halves
10. finish
11. If done correctly, you need to shower (wash hair!)
12, around 6:00am, all scrubbed and clean,
fold yourself back into her arms. Snuggle, spoon.
13. when she mumbles you smell clean, you reply,
                                  "been folding laundry, writing poetry,
                                   and the clean smell done fell on me"
14. if alone, despair not, read this poem and know we are together
15. believe this day is full of possibilities,
write me a poem, put the load right on me

there are stains that cannot be removed,
deterred by this gent, and his a-gents,
they are history, treat'em with respect
and not more
deter-gent

every poem must end,
so when the folding is done,
whisper:

*the day ahead is full of possibilities
like the pleasured reinvigorating of my clothes,
once happy soiled, now happy cleansed,
so I possess an excuse, a reason,
a rationale for living
to fold laundry again!

With you,
The color blue is never sad.
The north winds are cold,
But there is no chill.
The sun is a friend I had not noticed,
Beaming.

With you,
My hands are woven
And the grass is weaving
A great blanket,
Safe and long and warm
Like your hands,
When they cover,
When they touch me
Like my lost, new found friends
The sun and the sheltering
Earth
And the autumn winds,
I no longer dread,
No longer fear,
With you.

In the winter you will lie
soul beguiled and rested eye
deathly dreams that dream to die
In the dead of dusk

In December you will sleep
Stowed away the dreams you keep
The sea inside you, swirling deep
In the dead of dusk

Daytime thoughts of innocence
happiness and diligence
follow you to requiem
In the dead of dusk

Lightest thoughts on surface, you
forget about what's real
what's true
until the dusk envelops you
that dead and demon dusk

Now Winter's winds are calling you
shadows cast on what is true
white cat, now black cat
sun now moon
in the dead of dusk

Everything you thought you knew
sleep will twist and mangle you
nightmares creep inside of you
in the dead of dusk

Morning follows
sun rises up
nightmares dangle on the cusp
disappear now,
Twelve hours burn up
then drag you down
back to the dead of dusk

I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.

Why
Am I still in this place?
How
Am I still dragging my heels..
When I know better.
I could do better for myself .
Recognize the madness of life
Is only a test of patience.
To attain happiness and contentment.
But we as people
Are our worst critics.
But its easy to forget
We can empower ourselves just as much.
So chin up dude.
Smile.
That's what everyone remembers you by.
And laugh..
Laugh more.
Life is beautiful,
And so I've been told
To look in the mirror,
And tell myself my fate.
For I choose how I feel
About every situation.
Every memory.
And every moment.

Every so often
You're unearthed
in my mannerisms,
Relics of the past
Uncovered on accident
and up for interpretation.
The strangest winds
Blow the dirt off
That certain eyeroll
or inflection,
Offering but clues
To my past
and our fall from grace.

Our civilization is over;
No collection on pedestals
Can change that,
Though it's kept on display
So we don't forget our history
And spare ourselves from
Being doomed to repeat it.

We all have a past,
We all hide it well;
We all forget that
We all hurt inside.