Not too deep,
I feel like a robot with dying batteries.
fingers have their own life
as they type away,
This what you read now.
I need tape to keep my eyes open
or coffee with more caffeine.
Heck, I could do with a trampoline
to bounce myself
or some ideas,
and see them rebound
for the sake of movement.
The static’s puzzling,
Everything’s so still it looks like a barcode,
and I have no scanner.
Some mornings like this,
like an empty kaleidoscope,
like a still river on the ceiling,
and the sound of imagined brittle dreams
that come between wakefulness and sleep.
In the background,
curtains play hide-and-seek with windows,
their creaking giving them away.
Trill of kites,
day perching on dawn,
I like this morning soundtrack.
It’s still winter in my brain,
the sun seems like a half-lit candle.
If I could,
I would scrape slivers off it
and hang them inside this room.
And then wait
for the magnetism of sunlight
to work its magic.
Blues can’t stick to these walls forever.
Rooms will shed skin.