Medium: One

Woke this morning

with the hope that

nothing good would

be posted here.

In my wordview:

four syllables,

lines and stanzas,

I read you small.

Large! Medium!

O the platter!

O the content!

Feasts, not famines.

The disappoint

of meant is gone.

The letters strung

on, on and on.

Poet’s Note: As the expansion of my daily existence stretches outward, the fun of sleeping gives way to the wonderment of what will happen today. But when I wake I know I face the readings. The readings then mark themselves as numbers. On a clock. Then the fabric of pajamas, so soft in the dark, get itchy, scratchy and light demands new clothes and other energy involving eyes (such as using them to drive to the bank and the grocery and the … charity drop off bin). You writers always fulfill the expectation of Morning Reading Time.

And I thank you. I love your eyes — each and every one of them — and your ears in case your eyes have failed you and you have a reader companion (for there is no Braille on the Internet yet…or is there?).