a sorry fist forward and mortally i follow coldly into the first dark flint of day not my natural habitat so quiet.. or near so a vacancy for occasional clean isolated noises
i pause and pass a scan about the hailing lack of conscious population all packed away hauntings themselves in beds - like some form of post apocalyptic storage - they add a vague lended charge
nature is on a limited budget this early no birds yet and no solar minting a massive racoon with only three legs crosses my intended path in its mouth a gory wreckage
i steep to make balance but my pores won't take it i am sickened by the ballast of my breakfast
i hollow onward into these new conditions still deriding what to be a tourist and an informer dud i have switched to the dayshift from off the spire of my regular hour the evening routine
breathing is surprisingly ***** at this time a failing of settled pollution : the public buildings and restaurants are muggy in their overnight stale degassing awaiting air currents and dispersal
the first gulls of the morning emit a defeating siren spearing through detritus they dispel the bells of purity
somehow i've made my port of call a struggling invertebrate in this state i dispose my spirit at the salted threshold security staff and sanitation process between the sets of automatic doors
a workplace made alien and adverse to me purely by the indecent hour of day
neth jones Oct 2021 [gulls] summer the morning gulls morning gulls defeat me an accuracy to the early hour they spear thorough amongst the detritus dispelling the bells of cleanliness in an urban morning