Quiet for the Morning

It’s quiet these days, awaiting the other shoe’s blues to ring true
Me, I sing em too, but softly, like a voice subdued
Im glued to the notion that the ripple from the fall will undo
The cause and effect, defects, infecting the decisions I always choose
But you see right through, a cascade of bruises that are there but don’t show
You know how to strike, like a flint skips to lighter fluid, ignites with a hollow glow
Feel it deep below my skin, beginning to spread, like flame to fuel, and I know
That this quiet is pervasive, contagious, elegiac and abrasive, like rust on the soul
I bring nothing to the morning, it’s sun shining brighter in some inside joke
The latch on this door, cracked frame, holds nothing in or out, even if its not broke
Watch the intense point of the suns rays trigger kindling to simmer and smoke
And through these doors, unhinged, I chew heavy on words so as not to choke


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