coming, going, what difference?

by jhon baker

morning came more quickly than I imagined. Hard time falling off to sleep, woke up a few times to wander aimlessly around the house, and a hard time awakening finally. Yesterday, after the second post I had found my way in and wrote eight poems, all 10 lines or under for a specific submission but I was proud of them all.

I need to thank Troy Ygnacio Soriano. Thank you, I apparently needed what you said, stole part of it and turned it into an extension of myself.

here is my tip of the hat.

blue rusted wheelbarrows

a quietness of living space
is required at 5 a.m.
at least around here.
only Jose, who mows the lawn,

is allowed to interrupt.

I have trouble recognizing
daffodils on early mornings.
Mornings so full of cool air
& blue rusted wheelbarrows
with flattened tires.

I think you like me most
when I am tired from
waking early, worn out from
a nights occupations or mornings sight of daffodils.

– Hoc Scripsi

That’s all I got this morning. It fails at being much but succeeds at being.

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