Morning Lovely (Prose for Pros)

SONY DSCThe morning came as fast as the buzzing to ears.  Like lifting out of bed, like tons of bricks.  Equality in small doses, what does this morning owe?  I don’t know.

A bug scuttles across the floor, I pray there are no more.  A spider stretches splayed skyward above the kitchen island.  I look, standing in defiance.

Batting an eyelid in defense of eye.  Contact lens to contact floor, or counter, or sink.  To crevasse or crease, and more. On the brink of crying as fingers poke the eye.  Some things are hard to see.  For somethings, you have to try.

Food on the table, once hot and wet, dried up because of forget-forgot.  Was hot and added milk to complete the physical change, which was felt throughout.  By this time there was stress, nothing chemical about it, there are no emotions.

Interwoven, lights work together and shut off singularly to fully vanquish the room of visibility; an assembly line shutting down for a hiatus in progression.  I whisk a bike and myself into the night, into the morning, in actuality.  Out and about.

The streets are dead, but more so alive than ever; everything is visible, the sky is a hazy, dark/light blue with a clue of what might come to me or you.

The sun wakes most, but I am up before the sun for money, for fun, for the fucksake of it.  What for, Honey?

Brisk breeze hits me and I pedal towards Nicollet, towards downtown, towards Hell-but in a good way.  A time to start the day.  Another cyclist approaches and passes.  I pass back and the game of sharing tread begins.

Lights like fireflies, hands clamped to handle bar and frame.  All the same, they fly through the streets to a destination destined to them.  They have the idea.

Popped off to enjoy a nap, the backpack in a pantry near a nap-sack, believe that.  The breeze came hastily at and past me.  Sure was drafty.

And the day begins again…


About Terry Scott Niebeling

Hello, My name is Terry Scott, a human being with flaws. twitter: @sirterryscott Buy my ebooks:
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