Channel Tic Toc

The Jeffersons are on.
Which means its 5:30 a.m. Again.

My world is grey.
Grey is cold.
Cold is lonely.

The wind dances in army lines
Tapping pistols on my window with grins of power plastered on,
For there are no sound waves to interrupt its path.
Empty spaces.
I can hear the sounds of blood rushing through veins.
And heart beats.
Yells, from a back scratching orgasim that I'm accountable for
But nothing is real.
Nothing is a memory.
Everything is a copy.
Of a copy.


You hear that?



Me neither.

Still...
What a beautiful Ebony morning.
The sky is Pepper.
The sun is peaking over the choral mountains
Licking partials into the sea as it brushes high above our grey world.
The light black grass looks inky as the Dew sets atop.
Oh, how clever the sun is, everyday, as the Jeffersons end, the selfish moon vanishes into the black of day.
Sun rays cascade into the Pepper, so beautifully grey.



& what do you know?
My Soul mate is calling...
You beautiful insomniac, come to me.


I know its 6:00 a.m because Sponge bob is on.