The clock don't tic nor toc no more.
Those days are long gone by.
Thus, this puddle of liquid crystal
encased in plastic,
precisely bedside placed,
atomically attuned.
Your head,
replete with raw-red orbs
in their worry-wrung sockets,
stuffed with another stultifying
insomniac night of jangled nerves
watched the seven segment readouts
go six-zero-zero- ante meridian.
It, so to speak, struck.
It's alarming hour arrived while you,
stricken and recently relapsed
into a chicken hearted addiction
to self-indulgent wound licking
decide, on the instant,
with a resolve resembling pluck,
to a boot-strap yanking exit from
the slack-souled, sickening suck
of that stagnant, cognitive swamp
of meandering mind-muck.
The instantaneity of eternity
was most poignantly present there,
(most unlike something like luck)
while you got your sorry ass
from out your bed and French Pressed
some good, strong coffee,
hummed a modest meditation
on rubber-tree moving ants,
saw the morning light lazily bathe
the unwitting world yet again.
Said light
seeming to reveal
the least of things to be
abundantly abuzz within-
all aglow, agleam,
and you (so real),
and me and
other/every
human too.
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