People Gift

People are confusing to me. People clown around.
People climb onto luxury beds at Bloomingdales, I think.
There's a murky aspect to this dumpy morning,
full of lurid exhaustion and achy moping. Glitter
settles on my thumb over the glue. That's news.
Dawn has a mouth and it is whispering
something soothing, and miraculous, and menacing.
Ow! Down the stairs I go with a bunch of
intense pleasures in my head. I'll always hold
the present here, to the people gift, from
where I came, and shall return, fortunately.