The hole of this morning

Under white morning light
obscured by a crisp yellow haze
with toaster ticking in the background,
train humming in the left-ground – only
nothing to do but prepare, abulations.
where we live now, but a room, but a hole.
Tucked away, sticking out as a crow screams
seemingly near the window sucking on smoke.
A time of cool morning, a time of walking the
daily dutiful path toward that hospitallike building.
I passed by smiles, chaotic breaths and, oddly,
murmuring imaginations. I try to forget these things
washing over me in the hole of this morning.

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