The morning brews slowly inward, forcing the afternoon at bay. Afternoons are my alarm. I don’t welcome the new hour. I prefer the stillness and quiet, drinking in the fragrant silence. Dark, rich, filtered through my eye lens in sepia and blues. I prefer to sit in silent recluse. Rolling waves bellowing backwards in tune, gently blowing as meadows do, preaching to the honey-silkened streamers, lilting on the endless horizon dew.
Golden across the plains, corn stalks rise, hardened yellow teeth, shriveled. A statutory uprising, marching with no retreat, marching in beat to the swaying breeze. In formation they proceed, marching in place, stoked by their vengeance for you. I bow to the fatal news that comes at noon, vicious in its insistence, harping on its brilliance. You Leper, you leech, you’ve infiltrated this morning! How can I forgive you? I see no way forward. I lift to the heavens, my empty cup and beg for more. ‘A refill please’, another cup of your magic brew, to halt the pain of my afternoon blues.
