Loud, I hear radio music,
scoff an old muffin cooked yesterday;
breakfast’s an early endeavor
fighting the dream-state I’m feeling.
Why get up early this morning?
5 am’s early for tigers
chasing a contract, the dollar,
seeking to, somehow, do business.
Milton, old seer, knew better
than to question the start of a morning.
Blind as a mole, he dictated
verse – on and on – like a gearbox
driven by forces inside him
singing his song every day.
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