This morning a song is happening. . . .
ridiculous: the difference
from aquatic birth to
solid earth, so far north
to deepest south
espresso sings: hand to mouth
Floating in my cup of tea:
the bric-a-brac chunk leftovers
from the small scoop of flavorful dust
I stirred in, along with honey. . . .
. . . . realize that I am late. I am going to need more time, at least a week. After that, I will be back and set it all right.”. . . .
Baudelaire said to be drunk, always, so this morning I am choosing tea and sunshine. . . .
like I know my body
like my soul knows that one day
it will answer a magnetic call
of its own
Ferocious as a violin
whose bow knows constant friction
this morning saw the day begin
with nature’s noisy diction
into future years
Let’s talk inspiration: as in I am in serious need of some. Over the summer I drew back into my shell like a hermit crab and kept to myself. . . . .