at my naked body every morning.
It sits there, at the foot of my bed,
like some historic statue
waiting to be noticed.
The sun shines in, almost blinds me,
wraps its fingers around me
caressing more and more of me
each second like someone
love-starved to a passion-fury.
Faintly, ever so faintly, I hear
the sounds around me.
Slowly the feeling of nausea comes,
screams out its presence with
the precision of an infallible clock.
The battle for a new day's survival begins.
Faintly, ever so faintly, I drift into the
life stream, all the while blaming the sun
and the growling motors
and the rushing people
and the screaming whistles...
all the while holding down
the nausea, holding down the thought
I am my own prison's mason.