Matin

In the presence of Self

in a place of Alone

where words dismantle and disperse

just as dreams that disappear upon rising

I sit and drink sweet Columbian brew

from a china cup

Cherokee sighs, her tawny gold fur

resigned to carpet while paws twitch,

ears lay flat and deaf

nose clocked-off and eyes

dimmed beneath soft-lidded mounds

My g-o-D spelled backwards

snores in her sleep

The coffee-maker base

clicks on… and off

as it heats and cools

on… and off

an electric lung

breathing the silence

of kitchen and space

No radio, tv or iPod tunes

unravel the morning

in this place of Alone

no racing to work

or seeking solutions

to revolutions and chaos

and all the troubles

that humans burden

and chase

while amassing wealth

discarding waste

their cycles of activity

dizzying and pointless

In this place of Alone

where worlds dismantle

and disperse like dreams

I sit and drink

from a china cup

with only the movement

of breath flowing in

…and out

in…

and out

Blood pulses

like highway traffic

while I surrender

to the awareness

of d-o-G spelled backwards

Submitted to Jingle’s Poetry Potluck and One Shot Wednesday

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