“mornings”

far from the ebb and flow
a little thought resides
drawing angles and lines
mapping out the days to come
and transforming reality
on warm couches
wrapped in luxury
insides are turned out
they reveal morning wishes
placed on old newsprint
poetry flows like spilled coffee
on the morning’s breakfast table
eggs are sunny-side up
and warm bread touches cracked lips
mothers tug lids from jars of jam
raspberry and marmalade streaks your plate
doors are flung wide open to reveal the dawn
still the color of aching blue violets
you rush to meet your day’s beginning
stumbling in the widening light
you pass familiar strangers
grunting all the while
bicycles and scooters pass you by
and up the stairs you go
to find your daily perch
a sad collection of long faces
no greeting therein contained
they fill you with disdain
reaching for your seat
you start to wonder why
the god’s of anger hold you
drifting in despair
you wish to find new visions
shared in solemn grace
and walk back home with intentions
to change the maddening place

-Jason Cyrus Akhtarekhavari 2/8/12

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