The sun is blowing burled gold horn beams
through crossed sky finger's knit knobbed cold
and though joints crack in bedding unrolled
the waking is easy with the day's slate clean.
Shoes lace and tie off quickly in smoke motes
over feet and bent knees at mattress edge
and a cracked leather wallet waits on window ledge
to join well worn jeans, doubled sweater and coat.
The ashtray hisses and a thought of eggs fade
with the sound of key to a deadbolts teeth
and a back turned full to face comfort's thief.
There's a world coming to and plans to be laid,
there are deadlines to meet and needs to be paid
dragons to slay and stores to be razed
by hook or by crook, and by pen or by blade.
The saying goes about boys and pant sleeves
that everyone will spend some time on their knees
getting dirty working the fruit of another man's trees.
But some men are born fed and some men are made.
Today this boy's sword is ready, come what may.
