every daylight,
I throw my self
on to the floor of awakeness.
sometimes its spillage.
other times it's a toss.
rarely is it a raging hurl.
okay, so there I am,
enough to survey,
maybe even gather in
as parts of my self that matter.
familiar functions more like common sense.
habits are used to identify.
my body becomes
the apparent first to be conjugated.
can't get a word in otherwise.
the dreamscape has all but collapsed.
whatever were conversation's had,
are now not lasting remarks.
imposing is all sensory around,
as if all standing guard.
but not really worth attention's grab.
I'd rather fake sleep as now again.
to induce a further tai chi residence,
as if as an after thought
was precious to this moment.
so let a certain warmth of self
come to the fore.
there should be
a certain picnic spread to the day.
but that has to surface
as if memory will serve it.
and I will pretend to remember
as my intentions brought forth
from the day before.
damn, movement becomes involved,
first inadvertent, a scratch, a poke, a cough,
then its actual
as if efforting is an engine in action.
where verticality is sought.
I have to assume the body-load of personage
to join the rest
as if of the human clan.
there is so much apparel to being conscious.
I have most of this
on daily automatic.
and this gets me,
to where in the world
I stand . . .
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