The cauldron of morning is when
the silence is split by the first bird's chirp -
the LA Times coming down the street
-
the knowledge of the extent of
your own desperation cooking and brewing inside you like a bloody stew
-
the room filling with chain-smoke -
The clinking of the coins as you
count your last few cents....
The dash across dewy asphalt to
the all-night station while your children sleep -
the grinding of Rory's teeth....
the noise of the TV - it's companionship now.
And the thinking and planning and
pushing AWAY the despair -
Wondering...will it ever get normal?
Will it ever be fair?
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