The Rise of Muscle Poetry

He steals light from time
inside a hall-wayed closet
with his barely-day-old
purple Moleskine

hoping to find words
that work in explaining
how it feels to feel lazy & lethargic
before morning’s first light.

What kid of Poem
is this?
No one needs a Poem
about that!

The shower water runs
to draw heat
before he finishes writing
nothing, essentially,

as though he writes
non-Poetry
in un-real time
stolen by the light.

Everyone already knows
how it feels to feel lazy
fresh from the bed
and before the roll into work.

What few people realize
and what he hopes to say
is that with enough time & light
stolen from closets & ways

lazy fades from the moment
like pre-dawn dark
being swallowed by the rise
of our clockwork sun.

Semper Fortis
~Lee

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