there are always choices

faint hints of powder blue try to influence the sky's hard winter grey
the cat refuses to drink from his floor-bound bowl, preferring an old applesauce jar in the sink
while I watch green tea slowly transform clear hot water
I have two choices:
return to the comforting arms of Morpheus until noonday hunger stops my torpor
face the day, its grey loneliness, my blue grief 


there are always choices
[2012.10.1...a]