Mondays

Thoughts flow to my brain like the crimson stream of orange juice in the morning,
I can't tell if i'm awake yet, and wouldn't want to know either.

Put down the glass container that holds the brown sludge of my a.m. existence,
Peer at the black and white sheets of paper all pressed together nicely,
Wonder why the color is wasted on mere ads and not the words of "wisdom" actually in these pages.

Grab the metal vices that bind me to all my worldly possecions,
Take an ungrateful step toward the door and the first concious thought of the day comes to mind. Why?

This question could stump confusious himself, but not today,
Not today, Not again will I let this life I have chosen ruin the life that is in my dreams.

Put down the keys, and open the window.
Take a deep breath, but not to breath, but rather smell what I will be missing

Look at the fishing rod, and laugh at its simplicity and mine as well.
Pick up my plastic connection to the world, place it to my ear and bathe in my thoughts as the dull ring continues.

Put it down and smile like I just got my first bike all over again,
Its a monday and I just called in sick.