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The weary spririts of Friday

april 13, 2007

woke
This
morning,
in the mood

The
Kansas
City
Streets
still
Wet,
and
the
gutters
running
full_
Of
rushing
streams
from
the
nights
April
rain

clouds
of
Payne's Gray
moved
close
to
the
ground

swirling
shifting
wind
smacked
the
rust
weathered
screen
against
my
bedroom
window

whisps
of
cold air
crept
under the door.

From
the
oily
heater
one
room
over,

the
sound of the
thermostats double click
was
pleasing

the
eruption
from the ignition
was
like
the
chorus of
of a
60's
Rolling Stone's
Song. . .

Slow off-- beat
with the groove
of
the
thermostat
click,

But Explosive;

strong
smell
of
kerosene
filled
the
room

There were
never
enough covers
for
a
day
like
this!

never
enough money
to just
lay
in
bed!

only

with
a
swig
of
Jack Daniels
from
the
half-pint
tucked
safely. . .
in
my
mattress

could
I
leap
on
the

cold, cold

Carmel
colored
plank
floor. . .

followed
by

cups, and cups

of
black coffee
with
chewy
bitter
grounds
floating
on
top

THEN

could
I
face
the

weary spirits of Friday. . .