Friday, April 4, 2008. Heavy brew. Some mornings I'd take the coffin over coffee. Can you see his cloak? This is your morning wake-up call.
(Digging through wallets and pockets and socks. Pulling out keys and gum, receipts.)
A hip hop prophet pops on the train, clinging the poles, tapping his thigh and stomping the beat to his song. It's gonna ra-ain, it's gonna rain. This time it won't be water, there's gonna be flame. Ha-Ha just a little gospel entertainment on the way to the house, folks. If you can spare a dollar, a smile, a hello... a Happy New Year, ha-ha... I am sure it'd be returned to ya. I imagine those that I know who would give up a dollar, at least a smile, and I recognize them as the people I admire. I still don't dare to flinch. Most morning's I forget to write it. Wake up.
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