Now This

Last night I fell asleep thinking pride was like a wild horse

I had to break. This morning the sun sits golden on the horizon,

Like the times I walked through the acrid, sick sweet smell 

Of burning trash, streets waking like your gut turning over and 

Starting in the morning. 

I remember the thick thudding of housemat being cleaned, the muffled 

Cough-hack-spit of a morning routine, birds freewheeling

Amongst the ramshackle wiring that reminded me of childhood doodles

And how I feel when I look at women. 

Now, my limbs ambling and loose, joints unfolding

Like math or a waterfall. 

Now, my thoughts hushed like loam. 

Body, standing in the middle of an empty highway.

No cars, no people.  

I remember, it is Easter.