Monday, March 23, 2015

Waiting for my Coffee at Five in the Morning

A box within a box like Russian dolls
Human shaped and each painted I drive up road
Park at the square plot and arrive at my box
I go in might park my jacket, take off shoes
And feed the fish in their square box if it's early

Otherwise I might watch the rain
And listen to it strike the box, eternally
Dripping from round world and sky and collected
Will fill any box easily and for the money.

I don't see them, the square walls or rectangular furniture
It's like a white page behind the text sitting still and quiet
Ready to rip apart when the first bomb drops
Ready to become empty when your heart rips apart

Maybe that's what happened for life is hard sometimes
Someone grieving destroyed all the round houses
Someone pained burned the last round car
Someone poor begged to death

Probably fearing, someone took rosey valentine and ripped it all up
For it was the only black text written on an indifferent page
And they needed everything to be all right, that is they wanted nothing else
But to just turn back time.

Makes you wonder about left-handed people.
Like as in, where'd they all go?
They got blamed for no reason at all.
And that was like half the population!

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