Tuesday, April 12, 2011


A foggy confused feeling mixed in
with swirling discomfort and irregular
breathing leaving as I struggle in-
tensely out of that mess of sheets and fleet
of pillows that I call bed, Leaping from
its mold in a dramatic rush to climb
into the scolding sprinkling water I
call shower is much like writing this ran-
dom poem, a very brisk need to quickly
speed out the door with a shirt balled in
my palm and falling out of my un-
zipped pants,
nose diving into the car re-
lieved that the dramatic rush is coming
to a close, until you notice you’ve
forgotten your drawers

Imperative to win my morning race
 so my teacher does not win the right to
 look me in my mug to tell me I’m a
 lazy lug, The overdues on
my class attendance sentence how well I
do on this poem
For this is the class I write too

Ironically my morning routine
 is put in fast forward to cruise out the
 door in similar speed to how I fran-
-tically sketch this poem with a hand
 vigorously trembling from the pace
 I write to where I must go,

I struggle to run out my home each weight-
ed morning the same way I struggle to
muster words with this pen in
my hand strenuously creating with
 this restricting syllable meter.

No comments:

Post a Comment