'good morning'
eyes blink painful attempt to
adjust to light.
vision gropes the floor finding
blurred ink between ribs, and a
swollen hip
bruised from the afternoon before. this room is
littered with knowledge,
heaping creativity in the corners. the
bookcases mourn years of use,
arthritic, weak spines and thumbed pages
yellowed with age. it was
someone tapping on the window,
seventwenty levi morningtime.
'sleep'
seems in dire need of a skull, but words are
soft, are fingertips
running the length of spine;
tempting.
exhaustion could lie here forever,
waking hazy confused to continuous
piercing sound.
empty rooms and hallways suggest
previous exit of presence
long before eyelids
lifted. wood frame
shut, lock. (outside the day
has already begun to move)
evidence of self now adorning the carpet
breathes behins this now shut door,
behind this illusionary existence.
no key- an excuse for
return because 'your
company is most pleasant'.
'likewise' falls silent to a smile.