letter : morning

dear morning,

thankyou for coming, and thankyou for the light. i know there will be night again when you have to leave, but i am content in the knowledge that you’ll be back. i can trust you. i do trust you. i trust that with every you, every night is less dark than the one before.

your friend,
noah

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trumpet

o, the beacon’s rise!
over and kissing my
sand and my surf,
you herald for all eyes
to hear with trumpets and cheer,
it’s a new day!
it’s a new day!
it’s a new day!

well sun, you can suck my Dick
Tracy, you fuckin’ woke me up!
peeking through the fuckin’ blinds,
when all i wanted to do was snore
away the dread of having to rise
to another pitiful day
of my life.

now stick your trumpet up your ass.

every day

this morning, the sun’s entry on stage brought a burra’s chortle and children’s feet clippering on the polished pines to greet the day;  it’s sunday, and the air’s crisp is like yesterday, and the coffee is like anyday, and it’s velvet silk and satin smooth;  there are smiles stirring inside me as the simple slide of the kitchen window brings a breath of breeze and fragrant flowers;

it’s like this every day you know. today is just the same as every single other day, and every day i choose to be as magic as a simple cool and cozy, lazy sunday morning, and it’s pretty darn great.

am

/ william

the morning’s first rum doesn’t know
how much i need him to help
me paint, but his brother number
five does

// charles

i find no beer and no milk in
the fridge so i scratch my balls and
sigh to settle for third time used
filter coffee

/// richard

fucking clock buzzzing and {whack!}
and it’s black and the rain drums more
on the tin than a snare brush and
i turn over

Sunday morning over easy

My window frames hanging clouds in the morning. Dreary light blankets the street scape, grey and still. It is quiet and breathless. Sunday morning and the world is resting. Collectively, we are all sleeping in. There are no children in the street, no early morning joggers. The lines are blurred, colours muddied and I gaze across it all with an empty mind and resting heart. A sigh breaks my own silence.

I am weary today. The weight of my own existence is all the load I can burden. My eyes are my portrait, an expression of my state. Grey is the colour of lead too. Bother is something I cannot bear. Tired bones take my frame to face the day. I shower, dress and put on my best smile. The best has to be to come.

Cherub faces in angel suits greet my descent. They are blissfully ignorant. Breakfast is a welcome distraction, and talks of princess dreams begin to colour my eyes. Giggles nudge me from slumber and my heart beats faster. Rosy cheek grins crack my resolve. Tickles are a post meal treat.

My coffee is fresh and milky. Aroma fills the room and my skin. Streaming sunlight bursts through open blinds. Warmth floods straight through me, lifts me. I sit and look out at people walking dogs and kids on bikes. The smile on my face is real now. Good morning world, how are you today? Did you sleep well? Did you have pleasant dreams?