Quiet for the Morning
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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