a wake-up calling

I awake to a clock-face of sky

that tells me no time,

and a wallpaper of surround

that is bus-ride bored with looking back.

even familiar has no philosophic inner remark 

to greet me.

yes, there is casual internal commentary,

as if they are birds that suddenly fly up.

feel like I slept overnight in a park memory, 

maybe as a quasi-meaningful intention of life.

supposedly, I look forward to a coffee 

of self in a stare-down

and a resume of conclusions on a plate staring back.

yet I come from tablet material,

the kind that the commandments were written on.

but location makes my circumstance 

an irrelevant usage for that.

today, I could be composed of excess glue 

and minimal purposeful parts. 

have a sensory need 

for a sharpie to visually attend to,

some discernible declaration 

of next moment's cause.

would be caught guessing 

at the day of the week.

have no discernible evening of clamor 

to remember as fall back upon, 

as if to excuse myself 

from this blathering of outcry.

there must be a smooth surface, somewhere,

for me to re-experience glide,

some in-breath of otherwise self-regard.

personage is, 

the first call of the day.

right, and vertical is 

the first badge of courage. 

stance-taken.

talk with others

will take some getting to.

wether to posture as question to offer

or be readied with answer 

as if intended response,

to whatever low-flying verbal 

that comes my way?

surely weeds must talk amongst themselves.

a nest built, 

must be twigs that come to reminisce.

humans have those cohesiveness of needs,

as so much common ground.

and I have this. 

this limited horizon line 

of sensibility to work with.

sleep has long-time wander off

as if it was a friend in need.

are you listening 

or just overhearing?

for me, it sounds like 

I'm rambling on to myself.

but if you're there, 

I mean really there, 

then this was an intentional need,

no, I meant deed! . . .