I awake most mornings
in the afternoon, right on time
drenched in the bean of a valley I’ve never been
plucked from a mountain
I’ll never climbed
my brain has scheduled
random acts of unkindness
partly in the parietal
languishing this limbo
in my limbic
every wrinkle pressed for time
Be more creative
Be less critical
Be more elated
Be less cynical
I’m trying my best
to be more than just fine
scanning my heart and the horizon
for a new infinite
of entombed emptiness
the mountain ahead and the road left behind