Daybreak

Scattered, like the sun

when it spills onto the night,

wrinkling up the darkness

like a blanket

and inventing the morning.

I am not original.

I am a composition

of reflections that have only

leaked out into a residue

that I have claimed

as my existence,

beckoning on the moments

that spin and bend, rise and twist into

a single point,

having no origination

and no destination.

I am a wave,

an alternating sway,

predictably inconsistent,

working my way

through the maze

of my appetite

trying to satisfy

the contradictions of my

pretentious,

of my disastrous,

of my ambitious and crazy

soul.