Each morning, when waking,
I feel cornered,
numb;
an outcast
with dwindling resources,
much in line with the feelings of HAL,
the spaceship computer
in the movie 2001, A Space Odyssey,
and I realize I'm slowly disappearing
in the space of time,
bit by bit disintegrating
into the Tao of Absence
from my particular entity
of Presence

and I'm so tired of acquaintances
who keep telling me
what they're going to do;
never what they have done

They're but shadows
from the past,
rustles in the leaves,
downward trajectories
on the horizon,
empty faces dissolving
into the long-ago

but breakfast, coffee,
voices on the radio
and a stirring creativity
raise me up,
usher me ahead
into this new day,
the sound of demolition around me
as I'm broken out
of this shrinking room
of morning mentality,
to seize the sights and sounds
of the End of Days
through my mended body,
coming of quite a healthy age,
in ski tracks,
on notebook pages,
way into thick books
and loose-let dispersing
of intuitive poetry

while all the senses
that I keep with mine
gather in flocks of the night
like migrating birds
on telephone lines
for the inevitable dissipation
and dissolution
of forced individuality,
letters falling out of words,
leaving language loopholes
of emptiness
and a breath without ulterior motives

My nails are creeping out of my fingers
in front of me,
hauling themselves ever so slowly
to keep me from noticing
they're trying to abandon ship

That's pretty nifty!