this_morning_a_sound_in_silhouette

The morning, it is loud from drink, and large spouts go by and the alarms, oh to be buried beneath the metal heartbeat of alarms, how they do not stop in the groan of the morning when everything is work and trucks swallow trash and buses swallow sleep people, and she is there, watching it all wrapped in blue dreams, facing it all this early because the book told her to try everyday something that scares her and she does not move and the monsters of dawn wake hungry and fill their maws with the city walking in worst nightmares, she only waits in the window still not moving, her hips pressed against brick and her back aching from the watch and the city does not slow, the stripped blue cars and deepening brown ones only speed, accelerate toward someone else's drive, and she is naked beneath the blanket below the waist and there is nothing to feel out here and finally she turns and shuts the windows on the predators of her dreams and she gets this feeling like she has seen this all before before.


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