1.
The Act of Being


From the dreams
I land
in the relative safety
of the body,
still somewhat of a stranger
in the act of being


2.
In My Face


I'm thrown in my face
each dark winter dawn,
the stars still ignited
in the heavens,
a body kept moored
at my disposal,
under the reassuring weight
of heavy cover & thick quilt,
respiration providing a rhythm
to go by


3.
The Circadian Gate


The tiniest thought
ignites
the physical machinery
around my sense of being,
as the Circadian Gate opens
and dawn creaks at the back of my mind;
my two hands
trying out their tenfold madrigal of morning;
my arms flexing their protein-prepared
oldtimer tenacity,
the civil flow of citizenship
filling up this lifeform with memories
& prejudice,
clicking into the slot
of thoughtless convenience
in the automatic joy of being