Litkicks Message Board Archive

morning is a time of color

Posted to Action Poetry




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morning is a time of color

and oatmeal or other breakfast grain
and toast and eggs and dairy
cold glass of milk
bacon
fruit cocktail

morning is a crawl to consciousness
morning is ignoring the thump of the newspaper on the front lawn

the front lawn yawns
draws a deep breath tinted by dewy moisture

there are a lot of mornings that pass for endeavors

but in this travel to rendezvous with the gypsies
there comes no morning. until after.
in this quiet land of night morning is unknown
time is a cantrip that leaves no mark.

and with after comes morning
when the party has been had
or is having. begun.
and no count is kept on light

parties with a printed end time never fulfill their potential energy.
they are boulders or marbles that never roll to the base of the incline.

morning wears nice pants
a plaid pair. some study
in synthetic fiber.
and color.

a meeting of perpendicular lines.
with permanent press creases
to accommodate for the fact
morning couldnt find her shirt

and she's walking around barechested
strutting her plaid stuff
and noone's about to offer her the shirt off his back
and she's not asking

the outfit and the light are coordinated

she's looking for another bottle
and she's not sure these pants are hers
they fit in a way that proves they are not hers
but they might as well be
and the pants fit in a way that proves she likes them

the plaid pants swing low on the chariot of morning's hips
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