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  • Early Morning of a Poet

    2011 - 03.31

    I open my eyes to a new day after night has let go of me

    It usually takes a second to remember where I am

    On this sliding scale of life.

    When my memory is returned intact

    I feel the pain. Arthritis they call it.

    At 54 it rears it’s head.

    I had a wild young life, dove in over my head

    And I have all the scars to prove it.

    Words do not describe the sensation

    Of still having that child like wonder

    Yet living in a decaying  body

    That has long past the halfway mark.

    I get up, my movements favoring what is painful

    God, I hate physical paradoxes.

    It hurts to move, yet I must move to not hurt.

    Then my first luxury of the day, a long hot shower

    Then my second luxury coffee, pushes me forward from there.

    The Poet comes to me with his daily piece

    I sit down and  hit the keyboard

    Driven by the need to be a set of eyes for the world

    I capture words which run like little lizards among the rocks

    And weave a spider web of coherent phrases.

    Which stack up into neat little piles as I get older.

    I will not leave any children on this world

    But maybe my words will inspire children

    Long after I have left the work behind me.



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