Cold Morning

1.
Thinking all night about these things…
about how

I tell them I’m cold.

When I’m pressed to say more
and they ask if it’s fever I say
no, not that. Not this time.

I tell them I’m broke.

When I’m pressed to say more
and they ask if I’m lazy I say
no, not that. Not this time.

I tell them I’m lonely.

When I’m pushed to say more
and they ask if I’m crazy I say
well, I’ve been that, but this time…?

I tell them I’m going.

When I’m pushed to say more
and they ask when I’m leaving I ask 
if they ever knew I was here in the first place.

2.
You say it serves me right.

You say this is not
the right thing to do.

You say this is how the mighty fall
and I’ve never been mighty
but still I’m going down.

You say I’m just
not applying myself
and this is all
in my head.

I know where it is.  
Exactly where it is. After all
I live in here. I’m making room,

my old stuff is flying out
the windows

and the right thing to do may be to follow. 

3.
Cold morning
after what seems like
a year of heat.

I’m sitting now as I always do
in full daylight where I’m supposed
to be telling you the truth and making it
stick in ways beyond simple comprehension
of what words mean.

I’m not sure
it is working.
Not sure it ever has,
at least not the way
I wanted it to. 

I’m sitting
as I always do
regardless of season,
blinking in full daylight
after a whole night

of staring at the pale ceiling
of a dark bedroom
that I could only see
because of ambient light
from the flickering
security beacons on the house
next door.

Something was moving
in the yard, in the dark, 
something large enough
to trigger the sensors
but small enough to be unseen
when I rose now and then
to check.

Something was moving
out there in darkness
and there may be 
nothing left to do
but follow it.