What To Account For The Morning
when i wake up
plans begin to sprout like
mongo seeds in my bed
and i like a blanket
or sack
wets again with
the unnecessary moisture
of the day
to come
anxiety about what
could have been done for
another day
rules this game of life
worry about some
necessities which were left
forgotten
and now i sit here on a chair
beside my bed
on the altar of my illimitable
greed
my eyes searching
like a tower of light
in the sea
of illusions
there is nothing out there
and so to make
something
i decided that i must worry
and then
there is meaning sprouting
from anywhere
else
even from my armpits
and i guess
that is all enough for me
now i must go searching again
what i have missed
what i have forgotten
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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