One Of These Daze Poem by Michael Walkerjohn

Still
the Sol
peeks out
at another dawn.
One almost florescent.
Not too much different than
the last one, or going to be so much
a difference to the next one… Meanwhile
I'll cringe, and cry once; when the sky burns
and drops down to block my way home!
And IAM still, retracing and recounting
teardrops, as if pain; was powering
my memories. Blinking ever so
often, almost growing, climbing
dropping; climbing and dropping, then
crawling onto the countless times I've
spent changing my clothes that are so
drenched in resentment and hatred.
For a time plagiarized one day; one day
at the same time, in the meantime…
all sunsets eventually do so end.
Now I know, I have been played.
Played into a mound of toxic
cement and bone. Stoned bare
through the many worlds I have
survived. IAM not yet known, butt
something arises each and every morn
or mourn or mount of alms or ammo
and amounts throes, who the phuuck knows
who threw that first throw; or cares! What
spoken word is hope attached too? Thinking
this through I feel, my doorways are buzzing
lonely and compelling from the depths of soul.
As most of this daze clouds get lost at mile marker
none! Zero's home and I do not give a good
goddamn! However; all is not, lost forever.
IAM the map of the constellations, a way
home; crying out for attention and
attachment to anything leaving this
world in one whole piece! Peace be
upon me… Maybe! Memories against
my skin, dried husk of that lust remaining in
some lost dream. Over and over climbing and
dropping and drenching me; in stilled stereotypes…
I, tell myself watch and pretend the world isn't
playing me. IAM alone and I get to roam, as long
as I have enough hours; remaining on that
phuucking phone card! My time is instant
is inconsistent; Wyoming was the window
at times; above the troubles. I, tell myself
to relax… I will, to find my own ways back
to my truth and its home; one of these daze!