Morning Screen Before the sun rises And the dew begins to flee, My monitor and my files, They call and beckon me. The internet, the work, the unpaid bills -- Somehow working with them all Clears out the predawn webs With which my mind is filled. Oh, I have an agenda; there are, after all, Things to be done! Must balance that account, check the e-mail, But before the soft light, reason doesn't often Prevail. Fantasy and promise seem to dwell in the Predawn light; Promises of who I could be If I could just stay in the twilight. A blinking cursor, A loading page, A whirring hard drive All exist on a non-existent page. Millions are made by/for/on these beige machines, Yet in the morning, Before the sun, It feels alone, Not all that fun. So off I go with a poem This dawn, Sending it into cyberspace For someone else to dwell upon. You never know, after all, Who finds value in something so small As non-existent word on a non-existent page from a non-existent man in a small room off the hall. Michael Blazey