Page 22 - Packing for the Apocalypse

SILENT BE POEM 10
Four forty-five. The rooster crows. Waking. Thoughts, wild horses, try to break through The gates of mind. Better not let them now.
This is not the time for getting sentimental. This is the time for quieting down the mind. Listen to the molecules moving in the blood Pulsing in the temples, beating in the heart Ringing in the ears, bringing in the news of
Don’t. Only allow the sounds in this room. Silence. Ocean. Rooster. Breathing. Owls. Such moments are rare. Don’t waste them.
Now, make room for that other part of self. Here comes the waking man, feet slapping Sighing from the effort of re-entry into the What? What world are we in this morning?
s
2
22
2