Baggy beyond midnight
In the hugeness of the bulging hours
There is at last breakfast,
Five in the morning
And cornflakes
Served with three medications.
An entire planet turns
To facilitate
The synching of my wristwatch with the sun.
I am the drum between orchestras,
The question mark
Parked between speeches.
A diagnosis
Waiting for a chart.
Live or die,
There will be a treaty with the future,
But the calendar is a holdout on the date.
In the big orb of darkness
The ocean still lacks a real light.
The orange has peel
Which can be removed.
Fruit, today,
The source of mortal juice,
The surcease.