Friday Morning in the Universe

I wake up late,

again.

I think there’s birds chiming from nests in rain gutters sloping off the roof.
But it might be telephone pole construction at the end of the block.

This window, blinds included, a sorry excuse for shade.
Winter sun blazes my unopened eyes like interrogation lights.

Sweaty. Smells like…. sweat. And stale spit.
Fissured lips, sandpaper tongue, copper to taste.

Paper due in four hours and twenty five minutes.
Won’t start before the stars and sun’s rump come out to play.

My DNA, stacked, circles the world a 100,000 times could care less
about removing hairy legs and atrophied cheese toes
to swing, stretching, jerking and groaning
like some prehistoric poultry: Eeeeyegeahhha!

With thoughts like, “How did the Catskills get their name?”
did a cat really kill someone and if so why didn’t they just
name it after the cat’s name or maybe it didn’t have a name
or maybe it’s the skills of a cat. Stupid.

Stupid. Stupid – what’s going on today? Just fifteen more minutes.
I’ll skip breakfast. Shower? No. I’m going to be hungry.
But tomorrow’s Saturday? Here’s to hoping.

strung

i had a dream
your skin was ten times silk
and grabbing you was
like grabbing heaven’s clouds
but it wasn’t true
and you like it that way,
anyway

on my ride home from work
i watched a jogger’s ass as i
passed
by
and thought all these sweet things
that grew stale in the air

and then there was all that decay
around me and
then
i knew its rate

A Heavy Sigh

A heavy sigh
Two tired eyes
They carry me to bed.
A long yawn
The straining squint
And my reluctance gives.
Weighted eyelids
With slowed speech
No way I can resist.
So for now
Sleep take me
To you, I submit.

Five More Minutes

I should have gotten up.
Just five more minutes I said
I hit the snooze button
and rolled over in bed.
All I need is five more minutes.
So I went back to sleep instead.

for the chains i drag with me

i am so tired
of the trading of paper
and the loving of traitors
and the words that they staple
words oh so hateful
to the trees made of maple
ever so faithful

and i am so tired
of the silence pervasive
after the laughs have all faded
the glances we traded
i hope i can save it
wont try to escape it
or find love belated

and i am so tired
and probably always will be
for the chains i drag with me

but it is very tiring

i write most of these lies
with the most truth i have
and the most mind i can muster
and the very most saddest
of laughs

i write all of these lines
for the white space they break
i write ’till the sky goes black
and the earth itself starts
to shake