Cold In The Morning

Cold in the morning
when the heat
is down.

I get up shaking until
I gather myself
and put clothes on.

Turn on
the heat — listen till it sputters
all the way awake —

do the remainder of last night’s
dishes, pour a cup of strong coffee,
and then I sit at last down

like the heat did last night
making me cold in the morning
until I put on clothes —

saying, this is my life now;
my spectacular life of old maybe
at last is gone — God, it feels vibrant now,

a tapestry of chaotic events,
bad decisions, worry, huge music
and spectra of visions —

but maybe it was in fact all
like this: cups of coffee; inelegant
sweatpants and shirt; sitting

with a laptop trying to come up
with some items so shattering to say
that the words will soar out

and set them all to the torch
or rattle them till they rage up.
I do not call for them, not at all;

instead I stay here shivering, stay here
cold and ragged, stay still waiting
for pipes to stop clanging and heat to weigh in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T