MORNINGS WHEN I WAKE TOO EARLY THERE'S A DEAD LIGHT IN THE ROOM THE WAKING HOUR APPEARS PRETTY SOON EVERYONE IS SLEEPING THOUGH I LIE IN A CURTAINED ROOM
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE CROWD
IN A BEDROOM ON THE FLOOR
SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE
THE LIGHT BREAKS SLOWLY FORWARD UNTIL IT DEFINES ME SOMEHOW IT FINDS MY FUGITIVE LIFE IT'S BLURRED, BLURRED WITH DUST
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE CROWD
SOMEWHERE BETWEEN THE CROWD SOMEWHERE IN THE DISTANCE