Low life

Woke up
under apple-fresh skies
the beast of a man
still within me
cancelling night
but not its errors
and outrages. 

It takes a full raking
of the head
as though some cheap
Spanish beach
to remember the cost
of forgetting
the bodies cast and thrown

It appears the teeth
I have remain
there are new scratches
but no obvious scars
each room of morning
I enter
pleases me
if it looks as before. 

On early duty
with the child
I wake the big dog
asleep down the stairs
and while the child cries
the animal stares at me
as though weighing
the significance of a similar self. 

A dusty thick mouth
hawks at itself
as fingers
pull and crack
I look at a photograph
here of disgust, some mirror
and recognize nothing
but another day’s break
from night.