Some Mornings

Walk of shame, midtown to campus, a bus between

The sky is making fun of me

 

Quick little laughs make ripples in ripped cotton cirruses

 

That catch fire from the sun and burn like phoenixes

they delight in my bellyache

 

Each time I stagger home, with thistle in my gut and

Anger in my blood

 

I forget that it's there seeing me, shining, disapproving

 

The people are pointing at me

 

Fingers refer to the dwindling resolve in my eyebrows

The rapidly fading fixity of my gaze

 

And it seems, I know it only SEEMS

everyone is playing games with me

dangling my frailty from porcelain fingertips

 

My whole body is a funny bone that

keeps getting prodded 

 

My whole mind is a funny knot that

keeps getting twisted

 

[end script]

 

[open script; post script]

 

Every moment that I am pissed off for no reason is

A moment that I choose to be pissed off for no reason is

A moment that I let myself be pissed off for no reason is

The highest crime and sin I know how to commit

 

Caress caress, a slow cure is the only one for it