Collection

Some days the sun pokes\r\nover the horizon, warming\r\nthe treetops, birds call out\r\nthe alarm, blossoms open\r\n\r\ntheir night-wraps put on a face\r\nand sing out a fragrance.\r\nSome days it\'s the donuts\r\nand black coffee that give me\r\n\r\na bump-start long after the birds\r\nand blossoms have settled\r\non a scheme. I catch up with\r\nthe day\'s rhythm, get in synch\r\n\r\nwith the pivot arm swinging\r\naround, pooka-pooka-pooka\r\nSome days it\'s a donut\r\nthat\'s hard to digest, swirling\r\n\r\naround my innards, a big swirl\r\nand sloshing black water\r\nthe pivot arm isn\'t swinging\r\nruin is slopping about\r\n\r\nno one hears the alarm\r\nno one smells death coming