I awakened to the same sounds, and the same setting of the same scene

––early Wednesday:

There was nothing prepared

as the only thing that would’ve been is coffee,

dripping when its machine’s timer is activated

which it wasn’t.

But the mound of clothes in the hamper smelled as if dampness

was a mortal wound.

––What's left to consider before total consciousness;

before my sensibilities have had a chance to make sense;

before time begins its march to the sink?

––Is there someone in need of medical attention?

Will certain catastrophes fill the phosphorescent

airways on a loop? And what of the slow, agonizing

death of the once glorious morning erection?

God, displaying its unique sense of humor, must’ve had some fun

with that chapter in human ecstasy.

––later Wednesday:

Now comes the arbitrary bridge between one occupation, and another.

I know why it sits in the middle of the day, and yet, here I sit

as much a part of the world as any man, or groundhog, or any one

of those crazy elementary particles passing through solid structures

to get to who knows where, to do who knows what.

––Basta! I’m thinking far too clearly for my own good this Wednesday.

So I'll tune-in to channel 56, linger there with the angelic weather girl,

and later, I'll allow some time for Thursday morning to show its face.