i
reluctantly get up,
throw
my legs off the side of
the bed
and stagger
towards the kitchen,
down a flight.
coffee. grab
the paper off the porch.
then stare out
the window
where the woods are.
some aches and pains
have found
their way in,
woozy still from
dreams.
what day is it?
maybe sunday. i'll go
with that until someone
tells me otherwise.
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