These red streaks streaming in the middle of my morning door opening.
Face the world.
I scream, "Are you a story?"
The stained carpet and bikes with yellow tires on fake green grass turn pink.
"Are you a story?" I scream.
Some kind of transformation here
in the rosy tint from the radial pink clouds.
It must mean more than the dull hammers mashing mud
into a blunt kingdom of belches and bulging creatures.
Beauty! Much too much to spark my wires.
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This is about the sunrise this morning and what I thought about when I thought about.
Taken from an IPAP!
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