Breakfasting on Worms If you rise before the sun - (when dawn is still a dream you had, unclaspable, where reason ends, before the rote of compliance begins, before the language of constraint unstops, acting out the all too rational; a wage to earn, a meal to cook, children's needs to tend, the diction of No, after you and various similitudes designed to coalesce around the sociological) - you feel the pre-dawn less than dark fizzing somewhere interplanetary. And through this percolation the Earth's curve courses, hieroglyphics of expunged soil cast like prayers upon the plains. Too soon, tangents of light precurse the onset of a sober day, our dark worms sleeping off the sun.
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