The yellow morning sun rises out of an Easterly gray
sky bringing the promise of a bright blue, cloudless
new day.

A dozen songbirds are hard at work upon the feeders,
the barn cats lurk in the flower bushes, hunting waiting.
A hawk perches upon the barn roof, preening his feathers
in the warming lemony new light. Our red rooster crows
his morning song from the safety of the covered chicken pen.

I stretch, yawn and scratch my itchy bits, standing peering
out the window at the spring dewy grass scene that reminds
me to check and gas up the riding mower.

My hungry hedonistic house cat meows and rubs against
my bare legs, and hem of my old bathrobe, the aroma of
fresh perking coffee brings all morning ritual attentions
back inside, and just like the outside creatures, I also begin
yet another fine new day, content that for this emerging
brief moment in time all is right in my world. For as long
as I leave off the Television.

the morning
chores,
a chorus,

a litany,
a recital,
of old, worn
words
familiar
well worn
ungloved
fists of firsts

a deep drink
of 11.5 ounces
of a cold spring
water shocking
in~vigor~ates

rebalancing a
sleep induced
deficit

a gloried yawn,
an exhalation
of the overnight
staleness, an
expulsion of
stale residue
residuals,
leftovers
of a prior
life, dismissed,
yet clinging
to your body

in vain
desirous
to be
remained
part of
the landscape
of your
plain

as part of
your
grandfatherly
accumulations

but there’s
only so much
room
in your
container,
and all
your liquidities
must be replaced

that takes space
for the
fresh withholdings

so.
drink deep,
replace the
fluids unique
that operate
your systems

and all the
rest
will flow,
stream easy

how I got here, what to do,
frozen like a banana, brown,
curved in a bad posture, and
melting aint an available cure

every turn defeats me, too many choices
leads me into more drowing in uncertainty,
the new~ow!~now~word of external tumult,
that wraps me me bound in a blankety submission

talk to walls white and their answers come
pre~whitewashed, reverb off my skin, and
the echo chambers of my heart resist only
because they're already 98% clogged and

very choosy 'bout which truths got left
out
or newbies get let
in
sad sack sanctum

I owe, I owe it's off to work I go
The debt is piling up the dollars come so slow

It looks like I took a turn for the worse
I hit a fork in the road and come down with
some kind of voodoo curse

These monetary blues I do detest
They've taken away my happy-go-lucky
and put me under house-arrest

My muse she flew out the door and is on-the-run
Screaming over her shoulder, it ain't a crime to be unhappy
but it isn't any fun

I owe, I owe, it's off to work I go
The debt is piling up and the dollars come so slow