Morning Poem

There was a poem somewhere in the air
but it didn’t rhyme, it was
feeling something about meaning
something about feeling something
or was it thinking some things
are for thinking, some for meaning

it got lost
the air was too cold
dark bus exhaust snow

but it ended like this: someone
left a pen for me in the room that was well swept
it wasn’t left for me, it was left, and it was me
who came into the room so early it was dark
in the windows, the chairs scattered
the pen was white, small red words on it said:
better work, better life.

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