The Wrong End of the Day

 

I don’t know where I am the buzz scream manic beeping going going
going—two inches out and inside my head—my ears whimpering crying sad
forced to listen to hear the day begin so loud so loud they want to roll me
over…a tossed hand—disconnected—to silence the evil the bastard prodding
pushing alarm my eyes are slit there’s light coming in the ears know the game
is lost no hail Mary no comforting black nothing no more

game to play.

The bastard alarm stops mid catastrophe; a blanket of thick nothing lay
across me—a moment—silent echo’s bang against walls, dissipate and the
day sneaks past defenses past closed shades windows into barely finished
dreams of happiness happenstance…tall walking proud to be alive…but
its collapsing mist, falling away in the path of the day rolling inexorably a
tank, a big hole of a gun pointing shoving pushing me forward and awake

into light.

Eyes open flutter toward a ceiling too close too loud/bright…too much today
splashed upwards; seeping down coating me like fog on leaves on grass on
forgotten pieces of life arranged in broken rows across the idea of things I
used to know/believe/have held close to while mourning the loss of wanting,
the mystery of not having when “not having” means to be the essence of a
better life by subtraction and division toward an unavoidable lowest common

denominator.

At the wrong end of the day—starting—the end without runway without compromise
without recourse but to saddle up, to mount and go…looking behind at dreams
left unfinished incomplete milling around at an empty bed…the motion toward
upright begins halts hesitates relapses and struggles sideways into something
into movement sighing little motionless movement wait wait wait and leveraging
momentum the pendulum swings an internal weight shifts back and forth

up and down.

Standing; night now officially ended—dreams incommunicado now expatriates
standing on far shores watching battles drawn engaged without their need
knowing that on the way is daylight schedules deadlines clothing meetings music
traffic more and more and more all geared all pointed all ending up at places
predetermined places mapped places on a direct line between here and
there and ending again (and again) back where it started and ended:

in bed.

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