the sounds of morning

a clatter of
slamming doors
keys jangle as
babies cry
a soft shushing
as the coffee
maker hisses
engines firing
squeaking bearing
loose belt screams
three beeps from
the kitchen as
the first cup
fills the mug
steam rising
the blinds turn
shades of indigo
climb above the
rooftops as sirens
cry warning while
the morning song
warbles from the
bushes and trees

the symphony of
dread fills me
this cool morning
and i don’t feel
poetic as of late
hard to find the
flow of the words
in the consistency
of spinning out
as tue reality of
overworked and
severely underfunded
in the midst of
approaching doom
my madness fixates
in anxiety laced
sleepless undulations
as lightning scours
the hollow cathedral
with errant strikes
spiraling faster
until all i am
is the discarded
remains at the
bottom of the sink
a feast for fruitflies
dormant in the cool
morning of my own
passionate disinterest


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