totus.complete

completed it. am laying this to rest for a while.

Tomorrow morning

would be something else. Waking
into my own at nine,
the clocks would have had
their mechancial hearts stopped
and for unexplainable reasons, my mobile
would refuse to sound, receive
or even call. The pitiful bleep of its sms alert
would be muted and
murdered just before the words get filled in.
My inbox would be empty,
with deletions on every front.
There will be talk of this silence.
She will not be writing me of her happiness;
how much bluer Brisbane skies get,
and that her money is running out;
could I please be a dear
and send more?
There’ll be no bills to pay,
no one to settle.
The announcement of a governmental break looms.
Tomorrow morning I would wake
to a Sunday, comtemplating church,
the 11 o'clock mass, celibacy,
the 19 year old I cannot bring myself to forget,
my neglected laptop, along with the work
that matches it,
the task of cataloging lies,
alphabetically.
Then, somewhere between the dream
of not doing anything
and the local reality of that,
yes, somewhere between there,
today quietly begins.