birdmad i am not by any sense of the word a morning person.

the start of each day and the ensuing flood of consciousness reminds me that i cannot escape from who i am or who i have been

no shower cleans it away

no new haircut or new clothes changes what has been seething beneath the skin

only the deep silence of the evening when the city sleeps is any comfort to me

i can stare at the moon as she stares back down at me
i can ponder the stars and know that in the time it took their light to reach me, lifetimes have come and gone from the moment the photons left the corona of home to meet my eyes

and even though there is not much solace in even this, it is still better than the thought of my own face lit by the light of day
what's it to you?
who go