the king

i woke up this morning to the singing of a white tea pot telling me to add lemon. it was fresh and never cut before. with only one eye open, i said i would be there in a minute. then the water came. it was so hot it made me shiver. the first touch ran to my shoulder and down my arm to my finger. then like a waterfall, back to the earth. the clocks all sounded but i could not run quick enough to break them of their bad habits. snooze. i reached my hand for the plastic cased knob, and turned it down a little like a mountain snowy white. the drum sounded again and i knew it would no longer wait. right foot than left foot, i jumped out and the wet skin of my heal hit the floor like a baby seal hitting ice just after it leaves the womb. the cat ran faster than me to the room and i almost fell over his tail. as i spun around the corner wood, naked, my hair is long and hitting the walls like a heavy oil drenched blanket. they all run inside of arctic and myself and suffocate in the bottle caps and body bags. the room. its there and now so am i. i lean forward, button, push. snooze. ok. back to the kitchen. this is where everything happens between myself and the mossy bricks. to the right is the catacomb book shelf where all the spiders live on hills of rotten dust. close my eyes and run my index finger from the right, to the left, and back again. i blow the mess off and the trains of sun show them as they truly are. stare at them long enough and your permanently near sighted. a strange feeling consumes me and i run to the window. i love the snow and white fox sleeping with white rabbits. they tell me there is something waiting for me in the deepest part of the woods. to run there and never come back. i see an old woman sitting on the bench at the park across the street and she looks so strange and pale. i go sit next to her and tell her everything i believe in and feel passion for. she stares ahead silently and never says anything back. her hair is crisp grey, long and in braids that lay down her shoulders. and her hands are hard as her bones once were. her clothing resembles those of the 20s and her shoes are made for dancing. i can tell she wants to be left to herself. i tell her where i am to be going. as i walk away, i hear a soft voice whisper and turn around to an empty bench. goodbye

do what you want in your life. do what makes you happy. fuck everything else.