Tuesday Morning

I was out early this morning, before coffee,
before waking, before sleep had released me
to the day and its murk of november grey haze
and drizzle chill beside this sluggish brown river
me and a pen and a notebook, a collection
of poems by bukowski, and mozart whirling
through my morning mist mind as I read and wrote notes
for fodder, scraps collected to collect into
scrapbook poems later in the day when coffee
had been reinvented and reinvented my
mind into something more productive of poems,
perceptive and aware from chasing lucid zen
moments through my consciousness into luminance
born pure as the moment in which it creates truth.

David M Pitchford
22 Nov 2011


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