in the break of morning,

start your day

emptying a bag of urine

so full, so anxious to drip joy

around the base of your exhaust'd

bloate'd ankles

 

in the hurriedness of afternoon,

proceed to remove the stench with

citrus scent'd all purpose cleaner

that was not design'd

to remove the sweat

from your brow nor

frustration from your famish'd soul

 

on the edges of the night,

close the venetian blinds,

prepare to refresh your howling spirit

with aromatic whiffs of

cinnamon apple in the dark;

face east; light mystic scent'd candles

in the name of the unheard,

the ones who are too brainwash'd

too realize their own agony,

too noble to take a break,

book your reservation to

 the isle of sweet release,

do not fear the right

to stretch your wings

and fly alone

 

© 2005 cynth’ya lewis reed
all rights reserv'd