freeforms

today is oh so bleak and grey,
as grainy as the reception on "the bad channel" just for the two of us left in the world who don't do cable,
the wind hit me like a couple of line backers, the cold makes my nose sniffle incessantly and my hands dive into my pocket as soon as i step out the door,
the sky is full of wispy thin clouds that drift menacingly, they indicate trouble is ahead and soon,
familiar faces were what i was in search of when i climbed the steps,
in order to leave the orderly life,
and the special delivery of bad news that comes even when the postman doesn't,
inertia is pulling me down into a spiral of aching feet and aching legs,
sprawled out at the bus stop on MLK wondering which end of the universe i really belong to,
when i pull the veil up it falls,
into a broken wind and a sea of loneliness,
winter is a time for sleeping, but i am awake in the last hours of freedom
before monday crashes down on my head,
sundays are like snooze buttons, the time passes all too quickly before something comes and jars and pokes at your brain saying, "baby you gotta wake up, ain't nobody gonna wait for you this time."