Who works hard and
who does not. Morning
example. Morning works
hard hard work raising
the hemisphere.
Shadow crawl.
Tag Archives: morning
july 16, 2007
Emmy’s birthday uncertainty. Overwhelmed this morning. Poetry oozes pus.
awake enough
are you awake
Earnest morning gave a backlash
a background a boatload
of unspoken advice
the “I can help you” and “I know the answer”—
answer answer
Averse to morning happenings and hoverings
june 1, 2007 Moments 7 am
Easily impressed by nothing
this is not much of a morning
broken morning by a change in plans
change in routine
I am seeking if there is seeking
I am watching if there is watching
I am sleepy I am escapade I am trying and I am embroiled enmeshed in software wanting hard to order paper dreaming of a touch of handmade paper khadi paper and a morning watercolor made in the land of garbage and the land of smells.
This is my life what has it come to what I am learning is something different I must say it is draining it is lanced I am lanced and oozing after Canyonlands and Arches Park. I am teetering on the edge and struggle to make something when there’s the skyline halfway clothed with leaves and a suburban brightness in the air with sounds of water gurgling and a morning goldness in the air and a suburban cheeping with a hum of traffic while the dog rests and the flying bee whirrs by.
Bhikkhu emptiness here in
suburbs son sprawled out
in light at 5 am this is
a ticklish dream wrapped cold
around my torso cold and
drowned around my torso
dog tickling and jiggling
jingling here him sniffing smithing
Need well something. I am in need this morning. Some new habit some new privilege to be awake and early writing with backdrop of garbage and the smell of birds
And this morning—wrapped in the cleanest sheets of calm.
And still worms tackling.
No facility in the hand this morning.
I will work with Inna. She is from the Ukraine and she has definite opinions. Sigh—I am—sigh—repulsed.
Morning waves of aversion rise like nausea where am I, what am I doing.
Longing for the quiet of the bustling morning shops. In the small town, does anyone arise before 6? In the village, do you encounter people on the street? In the English village, naked people with monstrous faces? In the white north, chanting lunatics? In the humid south, alligators are successful, polar bears are not. Difficulties among the animal populations.
there are crumbs on my page
small blueberry stain on my thumb
my eyes are slightly sore from crying
yoga this morning—touched a fault line, a fault line in the striving earthcrust. I felt it, almost like a pop, like my back or neck went out, but maybe this time it was my will. A trickle of sadness like defeat (Step 1).
Metta? I don’t think so
Though Chikeola threw it in
this morning—
This latté is like
a cup of milk
nothing to it
Waking alone waking to the bare bones of a room and the bald pinkness of the light outside.
Waking into a zen of discouragement echoing from past mountainsides.
november 4
I threw out the white gravelly cauliflower soup. I really needed to make tea this morning. I made it—chai teabag and some soymilk. I also had some orange juice with water and four ibuprofen tablets. My hands are ice-cold. I was resting my swollen arm on top of a fleece jacket on top of a flour canister, with a bag of frozen wild blueberries draped over it. I need the elevation and the cold to combat the swelling. It’s painful.
I also threw out three small dead or mostly dead houseplants. No green thumbs here unless they are green from bruising.
Some envy. I enjoyed a short story that included a line about envy.
I enjoyed John Ashbery’s line “I write in the afternoon.” It hit
me with a great impact. Why? Because I don’t like afternoons. They are a negligible, hateful time, a chunk of time to get through. I am optimistic in the morning (usually) and pessimistic in the afternoon. There’s a wish that I could heal this. What would a good afternoon look like? Sunshine? Satisfaction? Rest?
I don’t like any hour of the day.
This morning I became aware of the bathroom. It is not that bad. The grout is clean. So is the caulking. I wiped the little table surface recently.