Ill get up Ill get up . . .
his words tone lacked
substance
someone in another room would mistake them for snoring
Ill get up
in just a minute
just a minute
Ill get up
I will . . .
their cat didnt rouse or
slip an eye to peek when the soft alarm sounded the third time after she
had eerily seemingly motionlessly silenced it by its snooze button
had eerily seemingly motionlessly silenced it by its snooze button
the three of them were very tired
in just a minute he warned he wasnt going anywhere just yet
his head was laden heavy with coloured dreams and black sleep and
other dreams throwing shadows against queer walls and long longer across fields and lawns on shrubs and the skirt and curtain of a peaceful twittering forest
he hadnt a consciousness to even wonder where she might be in her head
or the cat in his though their breathing sounded as if they had both fallen
asleep again
he hung there by the slimmest
of margins
at a razors edge between the sheer precipices of moody wakefulness and all its jealousies and greed
and deepening sleep alluring drowsy like amber syrup oozing and its trapped fantastic and phantasmagorical drug-addled apparitions the giants and sylphs
and deepening sleep alluring drowsy like amber syrup oozing and its trapped fantastic and phantasmagorical drug-addled apparitions the giants and sylphs
lepers and vampyres
he struggled between unconsciousness and consciousness manacled and freed incarcerated or serrated into bleeding
pieces
the peaceful and the riotous
there was no wonder in him why alcohol and other drugs permeated his culture or any cultures defying the Religious Freaks and Howls who damned those who used them
there was no wonder in him why alcohol and other drugs permeated his culture or any cultures defying the Religious Freaks and Howls who damned those who used them
. . . Ill get up in a minute
he was up before ten ticks tocked
talk about timing or
coffee
French Press
French Press
it
wasnt going to make itself
she wasnt going to make it
the cat didnt have an opposable thumb
and even if he did he wasnt going to make it either
the
servitude of caffiend
its black African smell
its grit from the bottom of the
cup between their teeth
the day ensuing
the promise
of sex
he won the bet fair and square
and if there was any reason to wake this morning and embrace the day there
wasnt a better reason than getting up for the coloured sex to come
Ill get up
he wasnt the
only thing that got up
he was not alone
the marmalade of sleep the curd of dreams dripped
away and the automaton making French Press was
in full gear
it ran nearly without him even having
to open an eye
AM, Friday,
30 1. 15
1424, Saturday, 31 1.
15
