here comes the sun 9/26/19

the day, my day, wakes me up, 

drunk on the night before,

scrambles to make sense 

of what sight might offer.

gees, where do these clouds come from?

for me, they are an annoyance, 

but sometimes 

both dramatic and mysterious.

sometimes I only live for the pleasantries

offered by shadows.

sometimes it’s just the wide and far of it.

you’d think I’d stop 

identifying with my projection

but no, I get caught up in the beaming.

oceans are just too much mirror-time for me,

I need the dialogue with land

and then I move on.

but keep sipping these instant memories,

way into the night.

it’s like newsprint in my eyes

and I am constantly staring at it.

I know, it seems like I am a passive blast

but behind the beam,

there is gawk, glare and gaze,

depending upon land circumstances.

clouds, I can tolerate 

but smoke bugs me.

no one would ever accuse me rubbernecking,

but hurricanes are beautiful.

winter, in some parts, is surprising.

but wars, of the human kind, suck,

only bad reports will come from me.

sure, wake-up takes awhile

but days are worth it to me.

most won’t notice,

but for me,

every days is different,

amazingly detailed and distinct.

I am like a one minute charcoal sketch artist,

over everything that passes me.

just remember;

land is canvass to work with

while water is mirror reflecting.

I get tired of seeing me

so I’ll see an animation of you, 

sometime, later in the day . . .