Being rather tired I forgot where I was going and lost my way, and tasted the tongue of confusion, pitched along to suspension like seeds in a raspberry jam, a name stained by headlines, a lengthy thoughtful smoke. They would never find me here. The worry lines began to disappear. No use frettin on gettin nowhere when there was a fire to be made to boil water over, and keep warm by. I mapped my memory tracing lines of your facade with the heel of my boot, in the shadow of a hanging falcon’s talons. They scratched below the eyelids shutting out the light to protect us. We would find a plot of land and marvel at the countryside. When clashing on the ground in the air in the water under the earth, your mouth might betray you. Best to stay silent and wait. Still, you’re too much, you know. A little south and uncoordinated, so near, so dear to me. Sweet like sugar. – Katya
early morning americans
struck a balance with all, in the city in the summer after dawn, when the morning bird was heard and the sun at eye level, playin hide and seek behind deciduous trees, while the cat trailed you partways to the cafés, and the barista knew your name without asking, and the statesman laughed and folded his newspaper and nary a phone was ringing, the time was reserved for a church bell and silence. americas were thick with technology, in the cables in the air, and you wouldn’t need to care in the early, early mornings. in the city on the streets, face values appreciated and if you looked past the wheels and the burden of homes that were carried, you were sure to find an honesty and goodness that survived any standing recession, knew more than money and politics combined, and had a penchant for pastimes of early morning. as deep as any faith, the devotion. rise and shine, america!
|k. early morning devotée|