The Possibilities of a Narrative

In the dark, thoughts spent on the news
of Monday. The rain will fall; a song
will play through ear-buds on the morning train—
the sun will become another reason to be
in an office sad-shod as a crumbled basement
where exhales are recycled, clocked, lost. 
All of this in the snooze: the shattered
half-thought, the galumph dreamed like a quieted barrel
blooming into sunrise; the trains will run.
Chord, cut-note, and half-truth are dependent
on this exhausted prolog. A standard alarm.
We learn to suffer limitations, musical lies;
a pulled trigger. We learn to forget the weather.