the Destruction of word(s)

7:08 a.m. bad side

Follow a sort of schedule
more like an inkling to do one or another
decisions are hard to make in such
a foggy condition--
to walk to a toilet
or turn over
for 5 minutes half awoken
By the fuckin’ sparrows.

Joy to this
shit the mirror
over the sink
smudged with prints
mine, possibly.

One rapid glance
I see the generations of many
great (some not so) staring
at my red eyed observation.
Fantasies erupt of every man heroes,
brass balled soldiers, blue collar steel workers
definitely no poets.

No grandeur is set in these hands
callous and bruised thickness.

A hero poet not one with an ear to the street
the foot steps of others ignored by most
words dislodge my throat
sticking in the back of that bouncing thingy
words that often have that odor
like the one pair of shoes
walked too many miles in the rain
sticking to your foot
leaving soggy footed,
those are my words mind you.

I scratch myself and chuckle
choking back description of a dramatic narrative
more concerned with minute earth shattering details
for example, a discrepancy of choosing Capt’n’Crunch or toast,
oh the struggle of modern livin’.