Collection

Some days the sun pokes over the horizon, warming the treetops, birds call out the alarm, blossoms open

their night-wraps put on a face and sing out a fragrance. Some days it's the donuts and black coffee that give me

a bump-start long after the birds and blossoms have settled on a scheme. I catch up with the day's rhythm, get in synch

with the pivot arm swinging around, pooka-pooka-pooka Some days it's a donut that's hard to digest, swirling

around my innards, a big swirl and sloshing black water the pivot arm isn't swinging ruin is slopping about

no one hears the alarm no one smells death coming