The Principle Of The Thing

you sleep until the adventure over-boils into daylight
and awakening clanks like a muffler
thumping Mondays into your skull
for sport. and future analysis.

you sweep grains of salt from faulty eyes
wincing at daybreak; with it’s doric columns.
rising like a grumpy beaver with nose plugs
in a hutch of frumpy blankets-
that are tea leaves
unread,

you drift into breakfast after a hardy slump in a hot shower…
then eat like a carnivorous plant, with a job.
soaking in toast and barley…. absentmindedly-
but grateful.

II

after work you retire to your menagerie-
of essential distractions.
lost books, dogeared discreetly
with highlights that stutter yellow planks
over black calligraphy

you drink alone,
and print fumes
on eggshells
that release
the kraken

III

Then you Begin.