These thoughts that creep from night
To swindle force and smother desire
Handcuff the clock to coffee
And a piece of buttered toast,
They sit and mock the crumbled life
That lies in mounds of maybe this,
Nevertheless the frogs of morning
Croak and chirp the sun into a bloody sky.
Their tongues flick into the future
To retrieve flying inclinations.
Swallowed ideas charge the arms,
Energize the legs.
The button pushed pings the world.
The internet moves in.