back laid prone.
like a telephone line spine.
eyes shut like garage doors.
holding eyes inside. slowly corroding over time.
like the rest of me and the moments still young.
my eyes. dryer some days then i hoped.
some moments we hope to cry more then
the water we contain.
saline ocean.
First moment post R.E.M.
that is the chore that finds me on occasion.
sometimes waking comes with ease.
this is a new day. same old problem.
breath deep in heaving lungs.
but there is music to undig from noise.
and there is art waiting to be cured from invisibility.
moments that either peel or rot.
choice is yours.
the steps after the first one get easier
and less chore like.
sometimes
and that's worth the gamble.
