Fleeting moments, somewhere in between the night and the misty break of dawn
Saturday, January 06, 2007
Slumping into the nearest space, on a rather filled bed.
filled with magazines and newspaper and cuttings and all,
a glass tumbler, partially deaf, sitting beside an uneaten corn.
goodies for breakfast may not be too far away, visit the fire first.
a stinging pain, somewhere ankle and below, new waves of hurt rise,
until you accustom yourself to the movements itself,
the movement is accomplished in six stages, and the seventh brings return.
the slow, occasional chirping of some birds before dawn,
urges you to straighten up, think Straight.
the tingling chill enters through the window and onto your ears,
whispering, whistling, dancing, sending shivers down your being.
a rambling man lay down quietly, contemplatively.
a spring of surprise and the air in the room is ruffled.
"I must go home now" the man mutters to himself.
Shift, shaft, clean, fill.
Let there be light, let the fire burn bright,
what if it isn't the first thing tht lit the impending morning,
or the fact that the closed box was purposefully dimmed.
Smoke rises from pipes, as smoke tends to.
Washing and waving and raving around in circular discomfort.
Hold still, if you can, slump otherwise and the bed wouldn't care.
faraway on the horizon, the sun sends its most subtle waves,
calling all angels, dispelling dirt and grime. The rooster comes alive,
beaming, beaming happily. ends his happy call with a sad note,
"why am i always so late" the urban rooster thinks to himself.
It takes a whole day until the thought dissolves.
