I’ve Started Waking Up Earlier

1 June 2013

One summer I spent every night
awake and wandering. Watched the cartoon
channel that flowed all hours—decades-old
shows draining black seconds. Saw
“One Froggy Evening” for the first time,
the Broadway-singing frog’s phonograph songs
tearing down a world as fast as Acme Construction.
I held my thin, black sleeve
to the lamp. The light shone straight and strong
through every fibre,
emblazoned an asteroid cloud of cotton dust
in my clothes.
The mornings, now, are like smoke,
even though I’m cleaner and more alert.
I eat breakfast now. I might be nostalgic
if I knew what it meant, but the word won’t form
in high numbered hours.
No shade of regret floats like bacteria in this
crisp air, though there is regret.
I solved the mystery of the dark thump
at my door each night near 5 AM.
Sometimes I read the paper.

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