Little arroyos...

My head is heavy...

A tough morning to get up
a tough morning to leave and
a dry head with little arroyos
pour rivulets
they're not tears though I feel them
this alone fatigue

the cat hid at the door
but came running when I opened
and the cool pillow to my side
now hums through claws and tongues

recycle me this morning
and head to a horizon
body stiff and frozen
warming as would grass
at the bottom of the valley floor

I've left cities before
this time a friend takes his
leave still looking
beyond the week
and the weak
and the sleepy
in Plato's cave
chained to a flat screen
451 minutes ago

agone
then go
into the vanishing point
again and again
the point
again and again

_________________________

It's 6:30 am. OPB is just too cheery for me at the moment...
Cappuccino you're the one.