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Apr 2022
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
neth jones
Written by
neth jones  Montreal
(Montreal)   
1.2k
   jude rigor
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