Poem in Progress - Preferences

I prefer the shorter parts of my life:

Grinding poetry from pulp to juice,
mashing the rind to sync the words with my meaning;
naps that lull of full-on sleep,
wearily rested and ready to move on;
a trail of thin lined cloud above my windshield,
the sun sherbet over my morning commute;

not the slow-sapping of pounding and putrid energy,
the night’s whispering and ear’s ringing, shuffling my legs,
the incessant throbs and aches ricocheting off bone and muscle.

The day often starts without me:
it’s awakening that’s easy.

I hear pages rustling in  tender morning sleep,
stacks fanned through thick fingers,
the air gliding toward my nose.

The waking moments I can’t forget:
I did the work for you and
I’m not finished yet.

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