Poetry: How I Wake Up

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Morning, the delayed explosion of light from horizon to horizon,
I feel it in my bones, pre-dawn, then finally, sunburst, dawn.
Who’s still asleep? What ruder awakening is there than the birth of glory?
Shockwaves from clavicle to Achilles tendons, my body is eager, mind in unstoppable hurry.

Kick-started, a jumping heartbeat is testament enough.
Where black coffee fails, human nature triumphs.
Earth to body, floor rises to meet unshod feet.
Cold, warm afterwards, feeling is the greatest gift. I sit.

The sheets know my behind, and what’s beneath them, the impression it leaves behind.
Ticking clock. Blinking watch. Glowing phone. Sentinels. Machines are never kind.
Time is running out on me. I should be running out, on time.
I feel bad, like a first time offender caught in the act. Lingering is a crime.

Mirror transfixion, nude reflection flashes smile back at flasher. Clear eyes. Wink.
Up. Climate control out of control. Water, bedside, 9 o’clock. Drink.
Totter, limp, stride. Toilet walk. Stiff, no dangle. Pride.
There’s a need to empty. Liquid content only, for now. Shuffle, drain, jiggle and slide.

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