The new morn, I see
clocks and haste and forgetting
the thing — you know, the thing
on the dresser
right behind the..yeah…that!
I was using last night.
Clawing at keys that claw at me
to choose the right one
In the cape of choices
to be made today.
And purpose that lingers
without a resolve
I resolve not to wait in
anticipation
for ‘purpose’ – teasing
my hair, lining liner
Completed expectations
into the day
Promises delivered
for the most part -
religiously executed chores follow
the correcting
- to everyone’s delight -
But not always to perfection.
I crack.
A bewitching time.
After the noise has ended.
In the silence I am mean.
No company is found in callousness.
I try.
Confined to the silence.
I lie.
Nothing is the matter.
Emptiness always seems to come
in the weirdest forms.
I crawl to be molded in its image
My image.
The light slips back through
its entrance
and bids me
good night.
© 2010, Caela Strong. All rights reserved.
