On some Morning

Sleeping over the cold floor feeling returning to my numb feet, and there I lay half awake with a head ache thinking of a thought that never was and will not ever be. The alarm goes the sad tone sickens my being I unfold myself from the tangled rag I have been using as my last defense from the minute blood sucking beast. And I sit there in the twilight the vision of my disorganized room floods my vision. A tiny point of light on my supposed bed only the glare of the sun on the camera lens, a smile cracks upon my face, the last of my joy still resist the darkness. I half crawl and walk towards the window its still dark for the most part, the moon still bright far away a crow greets the dawn, the gate keeper snores, I take of my jeans fumble in the grey dark and get hold of my towel walk into the dark damp and dead cold bathroom and walk into a rain of warm water; at last most of my body awakes from the dead chill. Feel my way for the soap I don’t find it, switch on the light, it blinds me a few moments later I rise from the floor still dazed by the sudden light half surprised I am not facing a prison search light, finally I find the soap under the sink don’t remember leaving it there. A couple of minutes or a hour later I walk out into the cold and leave a trail of wet silver to the room. It’s a bit more bright now, clouds of dust swirling and twirling in shafts of light and I am thinking of snow some where in Russia, it’s a wonder people call me pessimistic. The shoot of bamboo the only green apart from the grotesque figure of the hulk lay illuminated in the dark brown medicine bottle. I put on my tracks and a polo shirt, and walk thru my house that seems smaller, the walls some how imprisoning me, run my fingers over the cold metal of the door lock click it open and step out into a rush of cold wind, trop my self down the steps and skip my way out into the morning light, thinking of a time far gone by. And as I walk out I plan my day just as always I find my self on a path I never meant to take.