Monday is not a song wavering along snow drifts / Monday is not organs filtering seeded claptrap frosted with nuclear green salutations / Monday is not a lost glove ballooning with wasps settling into a new home / Monday is not the years finally being counted on a dinner plate / Monday is not the weeping birch bowing before winter waiting for the first cracks / Monday is all days tapping out the one moment that also held Adam’s skirt
terrible twos of species strutting along the plank / keeping the pace of the show moving with mouth mawing anticipation / the 20,000 year glint and spin off the staged edge / waving as the flashes recede down the bog hole / apologetic notes to the feather and fur taken with us / the verticals demand top billing and rotate the rest / until even the audience is sediment
test the room with an alternating current of lubricated puns and velvet glove slurs / leaning both ways / the near-to-materialize monowealth and then prosaic tracts making dark hints in the last century comfortably / kitchen table a motion to pluck all the new angels for their bright meat / glowing as the bites drag down through the throat / when the room is burning, everyone is your partner / in service too
pointed stick campaign sharpened by crowned teeth and lab-fashioned wedges / poking sleepy countrysides / inflaming the ghosts of future generations / I choose with desktop shortcuts / pre-installed, pre-ordained, a reflection of the never-dreamed lot / come, get lost in the last act / the audience is on stage having failed the audition
better than time, this is, guaranteed to furrow any pastoral brow, and wax every unapologetic offhand to a newborn sheen, and dice whole numbers into near-perfect qualitative equivalents buffed by triple definition tenses, the chatter of the tittering class absorbed with macro threads, all for the unforgivable price of 7 x 2
look away / the instructions are flagging after 30,000 days / the contingency is spent with a familiar whistled tune / all the milestones were dropped off in the desert with no leeway / lessons learned are never repeated / sponsors have fled to more temperate zones / the ice sculpture that heralded the start has returned its form to the puddle on the crosswalk / a new planet drifts into the galaxy intruding upon the sun
skew all data until the top level pops off / its hydra head landing in the pressed laps of the C grade / summaries flash-frozen / chewed to sharpen their molars / do the numbers dance this quarter? / filter air, water, responses, applicants, light / til the projections are as bright as an arcing flare in the backyard
not all dead, die / some snap crackers near your head / as sleep begins its nightly littering / some strip birch bark from your contemplative tree / some lie in the road playing deader / rattling the rust on your daily suspension / not all the dead forget there is air
show the half that hammers the nail into rough cut lumber / leave the smaller half who coined the term “blessed” / who have someone count for them in 1 pt numbers / visible only to the well-afforded eye / meanwhile the former half are contracted to build crosses out of reclaimed wood / catalogued as perfect for any large getogether
for all the suns / a blunted retina as offering to hold your places in rule / sunny repeated mistakes regardless of the world / except for cells refusing to merge / stubbornly stalled in the first stage towards a commonwealth unlit / blink long and dream again suns