At dawn
When the fog hangs
Still in the sky,
The seagulls cawing out
Like tormented prisoners,
The fog horns from
Invisible ships blowing,
I am there,
Awake and riding and
Writing.

I pass houses for sale,
Women in the windows
Painting their toe nails.
It is late.
It is early - far too early.
My love
She sleeps with her mouth open,
A gentle snore
Escaping and squeaking from her
Nose and throat.
It reminds me of the sound
A mouse makes when trapped in the paws
Of a kitty cat.

When did words become
So playful?
Who am I but nothing
But the word and imagination.
Aren't we all just
Stories
Anyway?

After the hill,
My legs burn and I
Think of icy hot.
Through the roller-skating
Rink there are elderly lady dancers.
The lead instructor is a man.
The old women softly whisper
Through their small lips to their friends.
Methinks they are
Afraid of what the teacher would think.
It's so early.
Why dance so early?
For death is near I guess or perhaps
Now very far away or
Maybe never even here at all.
Could it be
That we just made it up
To scare ourselves?

Down the
Long strip of
Of smooth concrete.
A streets tongue
Is endless.
Pushing through fog,
Blushing from the cold,
Seeing through my eyes,
My mind asks me,
How and why?

I do not no, I think to my mind,
Things just happened this way.
Choices, good and bad.
I think this and the mind thinks
Something back and I ask it to stay, for I'm lonely,
But it-******-me-my mind is gone.
Where off to?

I roll quickly downhill.
Sweat has built up on my forehead,
Under my nose, behind my
Large ears, and the rush of wind
Is colder than it was before.
Funny how things change so quickly.

A routine.
A life.
A life in routine.
A pair of parallels
Crossed in dubious love.
It's so much easier
To care when everything
Is upside down.
The struggle is what makes life
Real.

There's no problems
In Heaven.
There's only problems
In Hell.
Here,
The sentence holds
Both.