as the Sunday papers,
black on white
with politics, sports and capers.

I wear it
as the morning fog,
pounding pavement
from a morning jog.

I wear it
as the coffee grinds,
brewed and slow
and over time.

I wear it
as dishwater,
*****, bubbly
and that much hotter.

I wear it
in my toothpaste,
brushing the stains
peppermint laced.

I wear it
as a hair elastic,
holding the frayed
with rubber and plastic.

I wear it
as my red overcoat,
double-breasted
covering the bloat.

I wear it
in my *****.
Belting it out
as an opera.

I wear it
in my sleep.
Crawling in nightmares
it creeps.

I wear it
in every line.
Rhymed or not,
it's all mine.