Get Somewhere

The taste of fruits
and the tang of juices

make this morning
slog as slow as the milk

that drips from the cracked cereal bowl,
rivulets of white beading toward the edge

of the table,

I dream while waking of airplanes
in clouds with glimmers from the window
of parched rural roads
etched between mountain tops,

nothing tastes as good as
the meals I wished I ordered
when someone else was paying,

it's clicks and small motors starting up
in air conditioning units
that wake me up the last desperate inches,

the headlines make too much noise
when there is so much thinking to be done
before desert,

Lake Milk meets the Brawny storm front,
citizen corn flakes rejoice!

The shoes are on the right feet,
the wrist watch and glasses remain where I left them,
I have one hour to get somewhere.

See ya.