the birds woke me up this morning.
in a mid morning daze
from a long night
needing to rest well through the dawn,
they woke me
and were adamant about keeping me that way.
trying to gather my thoughts
as i take myself out the door,
words like cars barely getting through the gate.
‘fuck’ slides through no problem
with its inborn confidence
but the word morning
seems to get cut off at the ‘m’
forcing me to shovel it up
from this early traffic jam.
all the other words are carrying out
but if I try to stop and look at them
they fold back on themselves
and i have to read them backwards
as i drive by
and carry it all around the corner.
She saw me then
and I felt ashamed.
Man alone with himself is always a difficult area. One reason is the ambiguity of this situation, any one could be alone with themself socially, physically, emotionally, essentially in many ways. However the one sense that I have come to find as particularly taxing is man alone with himself without his vices. Being in a secluded state is always more bearable if there is any possible or viable form of adulteration. I am now in a state where I am removed from all of my vices, and I realized I have my lion’s share. Whether it be drinking, drugs, sex, I cannot, for one reason or another, preform any of them. Now I witness the difficult sense of isolation, with myself in my entirety. I do not find myself that unbearable but the fact is that in any staggering moment I find myself alone without a crutch, and the sense that I have nothing to lean on perpetuates the sense of isolation.