On the Blade of a Day Man stares at his reflection in his morning coffee balances on the edge of a sugarless death hides behind a shy day the wine mark of his birth the spilled wine of his life fears demons swinging on the trapeze in his brain, sizzling on the high wires How is it then, he gathers the tatters of his life about him everyday, steps out into the morning postures and puffs with pebbles in his shoes feathers in his mouth knowing he must build a pyramid, cut down a casaba, bandage a friend clear the…