The beginning of a day.
I feel as full as a coffin.
The writing began (none too quick)
reassessing its position within
the relationship of the day.
Moving now, corporeal surprise inflected
beyond the formation and towards austere radiance.
(My words mean nothing. This is a joke.)
the time of repeat and crescendo
suits a minor key and the unreadable scrawl of melody,
note and resonance, all lined with heart
and embittered like the layered perfection
of attraction held between the notes
of a perilous symphony
I dream of me, aching
for the urgent futures
which fade into silence
with every succinct vibration.
Conclusion: Draw perspective from plans and hours and the day.