Stirring--something gently shaking me awake...through the window.
A chilly breeze, fall is officially here.
The wee beastie purrs, gazing out longingly.
Finally, I escape to the shower.
The steaming rain is just too hot for my body, but just right for my back.
I wish I could stand there all day, surrounded by warmth, as if in the womb.
Yet, it lacks the life rhythm-the heartbeat that I latched onto,
Pushed up my mother's abdomen, from scar tissue after my sister's birth.
They had to pull me away; and likewise, I drag myself out of the shower.
"I like mornings because they're secret," Ben says.
I look out onto Maple street as if surveying a ghost town.
It is eerily quiet, and everything is haunted by a light layer of dew.
Turn the key in the ignition...
It hums but no bellow.
I crank the choke as far as it will let me.
Cold engine. Lame horse.
I feel sorry for the bike,
I can relate
And I am late.
I pull the copper Schwinn out and up from the cellar,
As quickly as I can setting off down the hill.
The wind is cold, my hands stiffen, eyes watering.
"What is the point? Why is everything so difficult?"
I search for purpose.
"What is the reason behind all this shit?"
I huff as I make the slight incline to Ann Arbor.
I cannot see how I am being shaped, if not only to be apathetic or bitter.
My heart booms
Shoulders tense
Chest aches.
The only thing I can predict to happen next with my cynicism is a heart attack.
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