1.

The Act of Being

From the dreams

I land

in the relative safety

of the body,

still somewhat of a stranger

in the act of being

2.

In My Face

I'm thrown in my face

each dark winter dawn,

the stars still ignited

in the heavens,

a body kept moored

at my disposal,

under the reassuring weight

of heavy cover & thick quilt,

respiration providing a rhythm

to go by

 3.

The Circadian Gate

The tiniest thought

ignites

the physical machinery

around my sense of being,

as the Circadian Gate opens

and dawn creaks at the back of my mind;

my two hands

trying out their tenfold madrigal of morning;

my arms flexing their protein-prepared

oldtimer tenacity,

the civil flow of citizenship

filling up this lifeform with memories

& prejudice,

clicking into the slot

of thoughtless convenience

in the automatic joy of being