Beetlebung and Kettlehole--April Poems

Monday Morning

A Prose-Poem:


In and out of my body I roll, as my murky mirror distorts any image to a shadow in a silent scene and my reflection provokes an angry momentum before I enter the kitchen, tripping, in slow motion, through a glass darkly, with eyes half-open. But I fear not because I sense my early morning’s transient, sinister emotions will be washed away once the opulent coffee brews in its seductive honey-pot, and I look forward to what rapture its first sip will bring. Possibly, a vista of the secret city inside me, of fluid neon reflections, complete with road maps and directives on the huge dim board of its courthouse. With that in mind, I strip and open myself to the ballistic baptism of the shower head. Water’s tone deliberately turns to morning drum rolls. The trouble is, today is not just limited to feeding and entanglements, but it flaunts a purpose of change to outstrip the hollow alleyways and slums I have kept hidden.

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Prompt: The trouble with Mondays...