Morning People

Scurrying skittering souls
Coffee in their veins
Rising with the dawn
Empty cereal bowls

Glowing early sun
Burning through the haze
Sleepwalking heroes
All trudging by as one

A slow breathless dance
Unfolding in the streets
Tired beating hearts
On purpose or by chance

Strutting strolling legs
Never ceasing to be straight
Delivering timely vessels
No hint of delay

Hurried sprinting urns
Not quite full of dust
Lovers in the cold
Busy waiting for their turn

Perfect ticking clocks
Grating through their heads
Driving ever onward
The ever harried flock

Buried unlived dreams
From which they once awoke
Memories and shadow
Burning air and steam

An unavoided fate
A point of misdirection
A world of affectation
Now pulled into the fray

Gasping ragged breaths
In dry sandpaper throats
If breathing is our home
Then we are all guests

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