Under the windows, transients dream until dawn
maybe the music lulls them to sleep with sweet songs
given Indian Classical Music to calm
anxious emotions that choke the air, a tawny
little rooster crows before the sun brightly shines
over the surface to which this facet belongs
society wakes each morning to this alarm
over and over except for Saturday games
zip the unzipped seam, measured steps around landmines
if their heads don't snore, soundly they rest, the homeless
not one rooster weaves a morning, a tapestry
homeless beggars sleep on the filthy carpet, bless
ordinary souls unblemished by luxury
not one rooster weaves a morning, while no one blames
actions but actors commission or omission
ordinary souls meet judges with soulless eyes
the rest of the world looks down on decisions made
each learns their lesson the hard way, with no mission
channel past choices by weaving the morning light
each dumpster diver wakes hungry within the lies
under the windows, they await sunrise, the shade
made by the darkness, as if the underworld paints
aspects of the earth within the umbrage once bright
magically, a switch flips on, the dimmer rises
ask for tomorrow, when does it begin, the sky
nocturnal turns blue, dreams of roosters comprises
how collaborative efforts burn with Scotch whisky
ask for the presence of mind the dawn never taints
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