157

woke up from flashes of a ten-minute-late clock
and a shoulder that never quite healed right.
yesterday's coffee still in the pot
black grounds swirl like sand in a globe
with probably about the same flavor.

dew drops on a spider's web outside the window
make prisms in the slowly emerging sunlight.
last night stars were tangled in it
the moon narrowly escaping.

a cigarette sighs in a tray beside my cold mug
(the most important meal of the day)
yesterday's crossed out word puzzle
adjacent to block-print headlines
already limp and fading.

ambitions of finishing overdue library books
or a half-hearted attempt at dishes the previous night
flutter off with the equally evanescent
flower-drawn-butterflies
like an autumn omen.

for now, i settle
among the dust and old shopping lists
sipping cold coffee
pondering communication barriers
as insects fly into the web.