Beep. Beep. The alarm, taking me out of bed.
I slowly, reluctantly raise my head.
My stupor is so great that I fear
Mona Lisa’s eyebrows would soon appear.

Oh Muse! Give me the strength to wake!
I cannot stand another minute drowning in this groggy state!

So my dear old desperate muse,
Drowning in his desperate blues,
Called on Zeus to set me free.

There came dear old wonderful Zeus,
And took some of his lightning juice,
And rained it down on me.

Oh! The pain and agony!
But it was the only thing that could set me free
From the unyielding grasp of sleep

Get up! I say!
It’s time to start your pitiful day!

I stumble to the floor,
Grasping desperately for the door,
Triumphant! The gods exclaim!
Your name shall be put up in the morning-risers hall of fame!

To the showers!
I go, with all due speed,
For a shower, a shower is all that I need.

I wash my hair till it resembles a great lion’s mane,
Shiningly shimmering in the shower-induced rain.

The soap, I capture, with a swipe of the wrist,
While it slips and slides in my strong iron fist.

Out of the shower, I sprint to get dressed.
I struggle with myself to pick out what’s best.

Pants or a skirt? I must make my choice.
No! I scream, with a desperate voice

Alas, it was gone, what I wanted to wear!
It was gone with my friends, when I decided to share!

Melancholy I was, but I did not fret.
On with the skirt I said,
And the turtleneck.

All fresh a clean, I realized my real pain.

Oh the hunger!
Oh the ravenous, unforgiving hunger.

I then set out for my next quest.
Food.

I searched in vein for some Froot-Loops.
The were gone last week along with the fruit juice.

Oh hunger! I say.
I must have food now!
But the question is, how?

Pancakes, I know not how to bake,
Oatmeal, I do not know how to make,
Boil, I do not know how to water,
(Or is it water I do not know how to boil? One can never tell)
Eggs, I know not how to create.

“Gram!” I scream with desperation,
“Please, for god’s sake, give me some satiation!”

In she comes, steadfast and true,
With some bacon, and eggs,
For her granddaughter-pooh.

“For me!” I exclaim, with honest delight,
And experience great ecstasy in each and every bite.

Off to school I say, and run to my doom,
Hoping each day, that it would me summer soon.

The tree has entered my hands,
The sap has ascended my arms,
The tree has grown in my breast—
Downward,
The branches grow out of me, like arms.

Tree you are,
Moss you are,
You are violets with wind above them.
A child—so high—you are,
And all this is folly to the world.

I have no wit, I have no words, no tears;
My heart within me like a stone
Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;
Look right, look left, I dwell alone;
A lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief
No everlasting hills I see;
My life is like the falling leaf;
O Jesus, quicken me.

That's enough for now.
I'm too full from youth to speak.
A smile is all it takes here, where everything is simple.
Even the knots in my hair.

Now mind is clear
as a cloudless sky.
Time then to make a
home in wilderness.

What have I done but
wander with my eyes
in the trees? So I
will build:  wife,
family, and seek
for neighbors.

                     Or I
perish of lonesomeness
or want of food or
lightning or the bear
(must tame the hart
and wear the bear).

And maybe make an image
of my wandering, a little
image—shrine by the
roadside to signify
to traveler that I live
here in the wilderness
awake and at home.