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Notes That Started The Morning Fire.

08 Feb

I burnt my breakfast with brown butter and garlic.

It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;

—creeping through the cracks of my window sills

wafting  silently,  carrying the day’s

chain-linked smog…breaking in with

—my paycheck’s upcoming arena.

Oops, I meant, aroma.

For a moment I choose to linger

asking for only a cherry tree.

 

I welcome the reservation that you

have set aside for me.

No need to build me a fence—

I am locked inside.

~~~~~

Do I talk to myself? Me and him?

Of course! Who else would listen?

How would I know when to stoke the wood stove

and make coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

I always tell myself what to do.

I am vetted by my soul,

Me:

The web, trickling inadvertently behind me, as I walk through space

Connects me to another square that I had left!

Never touching the ground, I wait with patience

in silk expectation —for a life, now to be defined.

Him:

The thread of your existence is never behind!

Nor could it manufacture a web to connect

to illusive time!

Shake off that wiggle… trickling inadvertently behind!

 

           

Hey! Anyone up for coffee, home fries, and scramble eggs?

 
8 Comments

Posted by on February 8, 2018 in Experimental, Life, Outlaw, Poetry, thoughts, Zen

 

Tags: , , ,

8 responses to “Notes That Started The Morning Fire.

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  2. rothpoetry

    February 9, 2018 at 6:39 pm

    I love it! Aging at its best!! Glad to see you still have your imaginary friend!! LOL
    Dwight

    Liked by 1 person

     
  3. wildchild47

    February 9, 2018 at 5:37 pm

    Me myself and I

    questioned rhyme without reason and seasonings – asking for salt and pepper – but I was sorely afraid for the upbraiding I would receive 😉

    some of the best conversations happen with self – but a hearty full breakfast – hey, where’s the bacon??? – is sometimes the best and most satisfying answer ….

    cheers!

    Liked by 1 person

     
  4. Frank Hubeny

    February 9, 2018 at 3:20 pm

    I talk to myself for the same reason.

    Liked by 1 person

     
  5. annell4

    February 9, 2018 at 3:07 pm

    My fav! Poem and breakfast.

    Liked by 1 person

     
  6. kim881

    February 9, 2018 at 7:31 am

    I love the description of the smell of burnt breakfast:
    ‘It rose above the perfumed oiled scent of progress;
    —creeping through the cracks of my window sills’.
    I appreciate the conversation with yourself – I do it all the time – and the aside, ‘Of course! Who else would listen?’ I think we are all vetted by our souls, but most people don’t realise.

    Liked by 1 person

     
  7. Brendan

    February 9, 2018 at 5:37 am

    I usually try to blame him for the waft of my inadvertent behind. He blames me for idiot rhyme.

    Liked by 1 person

     
  8. Björn Rudberg (brudberg)

    February 9, 2018 at 12:41 am

    This is a dialogue with self you can only have over a long perfect breakfast

    Liked by 1 person

     

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