matt pond PA

March 2, 2016

Aurora the Explorer.

My routines steer clear of any kind of regularity.

Last night, dinner was carefully prepared and served at 2am sharp. Peeled carrots, lightly dressed greens, the crunch of a red bell pepper. Four hours later, I’ve opened the shades of my sarcophagus and I’m diving into everything that my bed-slash-office has laid upon my desk of sheets.

Shirtless and wearing a bedhead crown, the penguin-shaped humidifier makes small clouds over the southeastern regions of the room. There is a disturbance of trousers to the north. They evoke the battle and performance of romance, of a soft-core ending to an evening. But as my eyes search the shortened horizon, they only find the form that holds them.

The sun intermittently breaks in to remind of something it keeps forgetting. Solar flares and distant disruptions. And then the daylight finally remembers — dolphins sleep with one eye open and women blink twice as much as men.

I don’t always understand the sun.