It is a Sherman oaks morning and the plans of eggs
are belayed by keys in a purse in a trunk of a car.
This unexpected siesta at the crossroads of Los Angeles
has more coffee in me than usual. They keep refilling and
I am ready to walk up the side of the building and survey
the Valley. Gravity is not my concern. Normally I'm so straight edge
at least in terms of chemicals I allow inside me.
I've crossed other kinds of lines.
There should be twelve step programs for people like me
Hello my name is...and I am nothing in particular worth mentioning.
The phone rings. The keys will soon be where they belong.
A short drive will be followed by an omelete.
It is no longer morning. "can I warm that up for you?"
"No" I say. They do it anyway. I am obligated to put it in my mouth.
It is no longer morning. My eyes will not close until the war is over.
