Roused at dawn to daughters whispered whimpers
these days become instinctual terrain
I move thru with a vague stealth
as routine reiterates its lengthy lessons
over this habitual atrocity called time.

So that now I aim my apprehension
towards an indistinct notion of memento mori
the grand excursion of death
the end of this beginning.

Call it a neurosis symptomatic with compulsions to watch
synonomous with silence
a dis-ease enthralled with the morbid eventuality of self-pity
insufficient pith and pathos.

An involuntary appetite for words eats away
at the insides of my fingertips
but I am inept at channeling this disembodied adrenaline sprawl
thru the alleyways of blood and synapse and muscle
to the ink inside my pen clutched like a guilty secret hunger.

But my thoughts are truant
and definitely not in the mess nighttime makes of a diaper
wrapped around my daughter's fragile form.

Mine was an obligatory static
a fierce addiction to disconnect
was inevitable
a catastrophic gnawing anticipation for tomorrow
and the next storm.

Tolerant of other people's wars
tired of my own
faith in folly
but we learn from loss
recoup our words
wake to a new dawn.


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