The anchor changed his tie to silk

The anchor changed his tie to silk,

a brighter shade of red.

But the number running at the bottom

is a list of the newly dead.

My cereal bowl is a shallow lake

where the flakes have gone to rot.

They’re swollen, gray, and heavy

with a milk that the cold forgot.

I’ve been in this chair since three o'clock,

my legs are a heavy weight.

I’m letting the light of the burning world

settle inside my plate.