The bridge to night is long, uneven,
eroding planks of misery demanding care where heavy footfalls
tread.
An electronic scream hurls a commanding Wake! breaks
the silence of my repose, demands eviction from the sanctuary of my bed.
The menacing face of daylight manifests in the window while my dulled senses attend to
the improbable tomorrow that has come to pass.
An arm outstretched from its safe cover seeks out ragged clothes tossed amid a puddle of fur and dust -- half buried half defined -- a black mass of cotton shirts, wool socks dour
dresses and opaque tights preparing for the day's frosty sojourn.
All organs move to retreat, but those intrepid bastards of the mind guilt and shame advance the cause despite their childish temperaments,
warning all who come near to heed the call to arms or be wrestled to
submission.
Move, variant corpse! Attend to the hourly tasks with energized conviction of those in standing repose with no more burden than warmth of the sun upon their shoulders;
their presumptive mission of the purpose driven is no match for my malaise.
The dark stairwell comforts me and and I descend slowly toward the mystery door, opened reveals what? Hope springs eternal before the wood divide; opposite, the day's destiny.
Anticipation trumps truth and I linger there, feeling the cool metal knob on my hand.
I have always loved surprises.