Weekday morning

Fear: DreamWorld

Going

(beneath)

With all that activity, I’m barely

staying alive

(Three kids are awake digging

for socks

each like a puppy after a bone in spring soil)

I’m not hurt. I just want more time.

[I say, every morning, every single one. Then I’m late for work.

No wonder to you why.]

I haven’t seen anything you haven’t

wanted to show me yet. I

on the other hand, am showing you everything.

{to the new beau, who at first admired my self-awareness

and who has bitten off a lot to chew}

The plan of the darkness rising and

the march towards insanity                   (the equinox)

(at the office, the complaints over darkness have already begun. We are crabby

and tired too soon.

OH, you have a sun light.

Look at the blue… white light

Does it work? I

have no idea. I eat Vitamin D for breakfast)

The world pulls apart at the middle,

leaving a soft underbelly

of aching.

I was born a poet. although warriors make better soldiers

and accountants make better worker bees

I was born a poet

another leaf falls, curled tissue paper

wrapping gifts, crumbling

Before high school, the friends arrive for walking

and pet the bunny named Prince

Welcome Jasmine

I have biscuits and hard boiled

eggs – Are you hungry?

as if I would get to be a mom, and stay home and sweep the floor,

after

baking cookies

greedily sucking at the dough