A Prayer Before Sleep

Jack searched the neighborhood as if he’d lost something.

Looking up and down the street, crossing sidewalks, he meandered auspiciously as if he’d forgotten where he was going.

Jack found himself in a state of neither here nor there.

The chill of February hung round his shoulders like a thin shawl.

It was his morning walk but to what ends—to what means?

Tires squealed in the distance.

Birds began their daily routine.

Automatic lights turned themselves off.

And what emerged from the tree line? Sure enough, as it had so many times before, the sun.

Jack knew that it would be long before the sun warmed his chapped fingers but at least it shed some light on his path.

Nothing was right or wrong, indeed, it was too early for such nonsense.

But still Jack did all he could to remember what he was looking for and why he’d been so eager to rise this morning before his alarm clock could shout obscenities to his ear.

It was the reflection of the sun off an old car window which caused him to touch his brow, where when removed, his hand revealed a thin layer of blood.

He couldn’t remember how or when he’d received such a gash, which the window now showed, laughingly.

Realizing where he was, he’d found what he’d been looking for, though it was as fragmented, cracked, and littered as the sidewalk that led him home.

Before entering the thought of knocking crossed his mind, but why? He lived here. This was his home.

The house was silent except for Jack.

He laid in bed as if it were the evening and since he wasn’t a praying man, he sang softly to himself.

It was more or less what praying had done for any other man before him, and would do for anyone else who’d find him thereafter.

It was then he turned off his alarm clock and shut his eyes.

THE END.

the birds

I don’t aim to fly higher than high.

I just aim

and well(that’s enough for me),

the rest is for the birds.

that old dog bark

A sweet chorus of birds

lingers in the air, as

the morning wains on

expectantly

that old dog bark

rings heavy on my mind.

Pulling the covers overhead, thinking

the day can—and most certainly will—wait for me today.

My feet are sore

and my heart is silent.

I’ll stand when I’m ready, till then

I’ll snore along till noon.

a little jig with the birds

I took all my why’s and what for’s one day

and threw em like confetti out the window

fluttering and cutting through the air

they just fell to the ground as the wind

picked up and the cars and people

mulled through the day dragging with them

my black confetti underfoot and tire

picking at em like stuck gum

confused in chaos

I watched just for a little as they disappeared

and the crowds dispersed with the morning

afternoon and night till all was quiet again

all but me shaking my unchained head

and doing a little jig with the birds.

his coat, blue velvet

There is a blue jay

on a branch, in the sun

through blinds I peer,

whether he sees me

or not, I look back to the screen

then back again, he’s gone

his coat, blue velvet

my memory, strong

though perched somewhere else

I whistle his song.

Morning musings.

In the morning
before the sun
when the birds speak
and the city wakes,
after a good night
of drink,
the cure all — water
by my bedside,
I listen
to the sweet symphony
in my guts.