Early

I world-test
my mornings.
Positive.
They’re part-time
double agents;
part-time
paramilitary.
My mornings have lives of their own.
Cunning mornings,
evening keen,
never wake me sleeping,
never lull awake.
My mornings dream me,
part-particle
and lie in wait:
I grow by coffee and vitamins,
a splash of water to wash away the scent.
The morning wash load (of consciousness, conscience) – an ambush
along the way.