On waking I’ll let out a scream
to protest my descent
protest the loss of this dream
I am high above the rooftops
viewing the topography
arranged in subtle spirals to
suggest autobiography
On waking I will hit it rolling
springing to a crouch
wary to the lead bell’s tolling
I’m the last caucasian ninja
poised to dodge the man’s alert
in a foolish manner thinking
as if I weren’t scratching dirt
doodling nothing’s in God’s margins
waiting for my one line’s cue
on waking I will sigh
open my eyes
and turn to you
what
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