It’s Wednesday.
Some ungodly hour between
4:00 and 6:00. Maybe. I’m not sure.
My mind is soft, unfocused,
sleep-heavy.
Dawn’s greeting is gentle, loving.
A mother’s smile. A susurration, interrupted
by David Wolfe promoting the NutriBullet on an LED screen.
Avocado, kale, blueberries.
Pseudo-science babble stems from wild,
bright eyes, overflowing into bohemian curls. Overgrown and unruly.
Enthusiasm and conviction have
never been more entertaining.
Billy Mays and his dynamic personality pitch.
Stubborn stains shiver before the power of OxiClean.
In a parallel world, I have bought out
every kitchen appliance, every menial utensil
that will revolutionize my quotidian life.
Those ped eggs, the George Foreman grills, Shamwows.
And I am content,
as I sit on my throne of ShamWows,
draped in an oversized Snuggie.

My eyes are closing.
It hurts to keep them open.
I think I'll rest now.

This is probably doomed to be another forgotten page
A sodden show, on a rotten stage.

One time this hall drew falls of laughter,

Then time as silence drools out from rafters.

Alas for past , for not, for fame I'm after.

Just frames. Just one the same. One scorched. Not fractured.

Bones break and skin gets brittle,
For honest hands its honest work what scares their riddles.

For when the price is life, and life's been lent
What's left for statement, of payment well spent.

They should know. Those bast'**s too stupid to be happy.
With the strength of two hearts pull the nets from their trapeze.

Or tightrope.. knife's blade or cliff edge?

We must all dance by this precipice, that cold breath a hiss by ear.
Our breath of fire's to contra, not compound fear.