Flowers 1

By Fernando Gallegos

It takes until morning
To find the pieces

To slowly crawl from
Room to room

Past empty walls
And old shoes, with dust still on them

To slowly build up the body
From the grotesque

To a palatable image
Sunken, dead eyes turn a clear brown

After splashes of water
Or a shower, if there’s time

Last night’s beer belly
Hidden under fresh T-shirt

The overly-hot coffee
Burning the throat, but awakening the heart

The unkempt beard
Left alone, it doesn’t matter

The troubled memories
Ironed out as are the wrinkles in the jeans

Wasted, defeated ego
Sprayed with cologne

And forgotten in the rush-out-I’m-late
Cacophony of mornings

I reset myself
Every morning

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