Saturday, January 8, 2011

waking up

I wake up on the floor.
The door is halfway opened using it’s frame as a bookend,
but my thoughts are illegible.
Carpet fiber skyscrapers.
Looking through my bedroom window.
The desk
the closet
  the bookcase
the door.
Weathered wood.
Two cardboard boxes packed in slipshod.
The silent alarm clock.
The pages that i’ve ripped out.
I have nothing to steal.
Everything I own is broken.
Daylight’s winding down;
everything outside is soft.
I self-scold with a dry mouth upon waking up mechanically.

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