Each morning I wake in
(from a wake in)
a body
(nobody's buddy)
that I'm dressed in
(distressed in)

with no way to turn,
with anonymous thoughts to churn

and I study that giant past tense
through experience's diminishing lens,

with always, less or more,
a conscience in coldstore
from a past that went before
when all that tears already tore,
when all I wear, I already wore,
when all I praised came out as gore
superficiality cutting to the core

until I rise and go (or stay),
that is, remain (or go away)

yeah, life sometimes gives, death always takes,
through northern winters, ice covers the lakes

but if you're in the universe, sit tight,
for dark is slow, so is the speed of light;
NOW is bottomless and at its height