remark about the strange nausea i feel in the morning,

awake with the cold touching my toes-sticking out of the blanket,

hoping the house is empty,

i am up.

there are some things i instantly look at when i wake:

how worn my desk looks,

my stained floor,

a broken clock set for 9 o' clock,

paintings,

the streetlight,

palm trees,

see if my brushes have hardened,

how many empty cups are lying around,

stacks of books,

dust.

sunlight.

i dread,

hearing footsteps or a television or someone on the phone

knowing there's nothing for breakfast

not having a book to read on the toilet

overbearing heat collected in a room

no one to kiss good morning

someone to kiss good morning

appointments

the first word i probably say,

is an affirmation.

rising is painful

succumb at night to relief

between is the substance

that makes the reality,

something happened-

sometimes my eyes are wet,

before i sleep.