Wednesday, March 19, 2014

Good Morning Rolling Stone

In the morning
I don't have time to
slowly wake, there's no paper
at my door, nor is there
a half finished bottle of wine
at my feet,
there's only time to brush my teeth
if I hurry, and dress but that's a given,
I'm guessing,
I wonder where the morning goes,
and why we've all got somewhere to be...
why not enjoy the sun's rising,
I dunno, it makes sense to me,
'cause I don't really know where the time goes,
or why sitcoms tell me I should
have time to sit at my kitchen table reading
the paper, eating cereal, waiting on the toast,
coffee dripping into glass pot,
that's not how my morning goes,
mostly I roll out of my sleeping bag,
pull on pants, part my hair, blink
sadly out my window, and look
for my shoes.

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