Life Cycle of a Morning

Stagnation, roll up your sleeves, no one sees you when you hide.
And I don’t care if you redefine yourself, using crayons to color your outsides.
Smiles and lines, contours smothering air, humid and stank, leaving the room after a night of lust, spread legs and pillow talk, vitriol words that hang,
distilling into sleep or dreams, between sleep apnea and lost sentiment coming apart at the seams.
Nobody sees you but me, the real you and hypothetical me,
flogging the morning hours, a fly circles overhead and the slow drip of coffee.

This beautiful morning needs to be imperfect– we love each other for the same purpose, reminders; sandman- clean out your eyes and kiss me with your morning breath,
my lips are dry and the clamminess of skin leaving out its last sweat.

This perfect morning, piggy-backing the quiet, save for the ‘buzz’ of a fly mother who lost her maggots, coasting past the morning newspaper, poverty, shootings- things you just can’t relate to.
People who live in the skids, broke bank accts. and blistered families, burned out– so wasted.

Oblivion makes it’s case.
Compound eyes shoot a glance my way
There’s nothing left to save but face.
The lifespan of a fly and my own kids close by
as I drift back to a less complicated place.

Mirror Image

Escape the fading credits and swear you’re not done here- the weight of unfinished business.
“Sorry Mom”, “I’ll pick it up, next time”.
I’m at least good for that.

You miss me more now than ever.

Someday I will long for my own kids- and they won’t answer the phone when I call.
The diminished returns, always returning for more…

Inside this vehicle, moving steady with no destination, and no self control.
I’m safe inside, so I’ll just drive.

You had me scared for a while.
I thought you finally came around.