Why You Wake

No exceptions, no one's by the wayside
When the twinkle of day gives way
To the blaze of the full-blown morn,
At once we are in gear for pleasure.
Noble or not the things we engage in,
Plopped on a condo's layered bellies
Or whipping caffeined corporate slaves,
Not once are we not out for pleasure.
Now the triggers of that which linger
As every day's dangling carrot,
These winds and fertile gusts that move
A man, these mark him and him measure.