5:30, 4:30 -
Up ever earlier.
40, 50, 60
Pages of the encyclopedia open.
All with tabs,
Of the many windows, pages, & folders.
Through the looking glass,
Roaming far & near as an extraterrestrial.

A vast cosmos swirls within my cup its hue reminiscent of
rich earth – this is how I savour the celestial dance of stars that
illuminate my dawn. The birds are chirping; their incessant
calls grating to someone still caught in the clutches of sleep,
an hour past their awakening.

I crave the warm embrace of those first sips, the aroma of
a universe enveloping my senses – those dulled nerve endings
yearning for that electric jolt to awaken my body, sounds ringing
sharp like a sudden jolt to the ear, quickly grounding me in
the present. My eyes, keen as a blade, slice through the haze of
distraction, honing in on clarity.

As I speak, relishing that fleeting moment of joy, the kettle
whistles its urgent call – a signal for the morning coffee I so
desperately seek.

It’s the morning of a different day—who knew there’d be another?
Lisa and I went on our harbor jog @ 5am—that’s nothing new.
It was, like 44°—we’re enjoying fall’s cold, refreshing bite.

Anyway, my mind wasn’t on it and I nearly stumbled over
a chunk of dark, uneven roadway, made invisible by its function.
Charles, jogging beside me, wordlessly managed to right me
without us losing a step and I smiled my thanks.

argh! I’ve got to get out of my head.

Later, in class, lulled by the comfort of the stiff, wooden chair, my eyes unfocused and the professor’s voice seemed to fade into the backdrop. Suddenly, he was asking me a direct question that seemed almost without context.

Metaphorically slapped back into focus, I scanned the room and the whiteboard for clues before awkwardly—walking the edge of catastrophe—bluffing it out, because, well, I’ve an instinctive reluctance to admit defeat with any sort of grace.

I didn’t sleep well last night. I had dreams—nothing with a defined purpose–just an amalgamate of bonfires and storms in a coastal scrubland with an odor of fresh cedar and a sense of casual vulnerability.

My attention today is like an intermittent pulse.
.
.
Songs for this:
Headz Gone West by Nia Archives
Dark Red by Steve Lacy

Autumn morning
Old man hands picking apples
A woman hangs out laundry in the sun
I feel the wind touching the leaves
The bird flies across the field
Memories are born in a person
The story of a long road

Sounds of birds screeching,
The mug in my kitchen overflowing with coffee, spilling over the edges.
The only sounds heard by the eggs crackling on the pan,
Infectious joy spreading like a virus all around the neighborhood.
Another meal that could’ve been prepared by your delicate hands,
Garnished with your love; poured with appreciation as I devour it whole.
But it is my hands that hurt, that ruin.
The sour taste attacks my tastebuds, and claws through my heart,
As I experience another morning without you,
Mourning you.

there is magic in a steaming cup
in seeing with sick eyes
through the white morning

A woman who moves in silence
Her face softened by the distance

She carries a life
not numbered
a beating heart for two
so big the walls bend around her
as if to say
“nevermind the others”

What makes you wake up in the morning?
Tell me so I can try it
sentence me to a life of living
please, in desperation I plead,
I’ll give you the lead so you can solve
the study of staying alive

be my witness
see me wake up in the morning
continuously

my sentence ends when
I’ve tried each of these reasons
there’s enough to last a lifetime
these reasons become a lifeline

the case of staying alive:
the next best love story ever told
me and the reasons
me and the seasons
me and the unread novel on the shelf
of the public library on the street
that I have yet to live on with
friends I have yet to meet
and a garden I am yet to plant bulbs in
that grow life with
and if
these reasons are ongoing and growing
what’s not to say that these reasons
are ever going to leave me
witness me complete my sentence
of living alive —