Morning in Istanbul

I.

In the morning
             I feel defenseless
             my dreams have already
colored and cubed my future day

If my body
             could stretch thin
             I would touch the tip
of my toes,
and yearn for grasping
                       releasing

                       helping
                       assisting fingers

did Zoë's veins reign me in
and run away with my skin?
Or shake away the fear
             of slaughtered lambs
             shaking hands
             paws' errands
yes, there are cats in this land
a silly tourist hardly has time to reflect
and still unsure how much suffering
awards merit

II.

Mornings for me were made difficult, alone
I will ask the ceiling to politely
             cover my feet
             request my thinking cap to
             turn down the volume
                       allow fresh air to blow through
                       inspire                         respire
                       deep breaths and no one there...
no thoughts...or thoughts about how nothing lasts
isn't that what they teach?

III.

Mornings without chemical therapy seem infinite
             childlike mornings
                       unsure of consequences
                                 hollow predictions of events to follow
                                           even as dysentery mysteries continue unabated
                                           say morning papers, for adults to escape pleasure
                                 ridiculous rules are not disengaged
                       waiting for mom and dad in the rain
             to show me the way

IV.
hybrid technologists intent on scaring
me away
             from living in the past
             from using pen and paper
even the keyboards that won't last
why should I among the thousands matter?
When all that changes is the world's green blood
             shame and chains
                       telemarketing and games
and it all amounts to fame?

V.
Fingers needed
             to pull me through the day
Irritated
injured shoulders trade places
             rotating
             gyrating about my head
where are those rescuing hands
I was promised?

VI.
Cold sun rains hard unannounced
I prefer the hot winterly gray
             threatening to freeze my toes
             but hands to warm them, not mine
Because I haven't learned to stretch so thin