As I rise, cumuli are my clouds
Purple rippling through hot pinks and gray
Waving to me in tattered shrouds
Above horizon of shadowed trees, come day
Commit to memory ether and solar play

For never could a photograph
Or great master’s paintings depict or imply
Phenomena of heaven’s autograph
Inferiority, obscurity shadowed in my sky
What wondering adrift, now present to eyes

Sensational this morning’s vividness
Ballyhoo applauds first light of dawning
Awestruck I am within this immanence
Call forth  flash of conception spawning
Clearest notion of  earthbound belonging

Even the rich
have cement boxes
full of ****
buried in their back yards.

We are all of us
but one errant ****** flush away
from being up to our ankles
in yesterday's horrors.

Remember this when shopping for shoes.

She doesn't start in the morning
like she used to,
and her gears are slipping.
Lost some of her pep
going down the street,
and is always going in for
something or other.

There's that clicking noise
whenever she takes off;
her chassis is sagging.
Leaves an inconvenient,
messy puddle
when she's parked for too long.

Maybe it's time.

Time to clean out
all her nooks and crannies
of the detritus
of years of family life,
and haul her off to the bone-yard.

Perhaps someday,
new life will come from
some old parts.
Until then,
let her sit and finish rusting
with all the other used-up
relics, loved once and forgotten,
compressed by time
into shapelessness
in rooms stinking of ***** and disinfectant.

And it's Friday
And I'm sorry
As the ghost behind your shoulders
Steps out from somber shadows
It's imprinted in your walls
And in your hands
And I know
And I'm sorry
It's always bleak when the week will end
Weakness begins
It's imprinted in the ceiling
To steal your smile

And I know why
She never had to tell me
I know why my sweetest love
Hates Fridays
And I know why
I understand she loves me
It's not the weekend, it just Fridays

Still it's Friday
And I'm sorry
I only put on my boots
To walk through cemeteries
It's imprinted in the graves
And in my mind
And I know
And I'm sorry
Tonight I'm going to party
By turning low the lights
It's imprinted in our blood
And beats our hearts

And I know why
She never had to tell me
I know why my sweetest love
Hates Fridays
And I know why
I understand she loves me
It's not the weekend it's just Fridays

It's not the weekend, it's just Fridays
That make her feel so low
It's not the weekend, only Fridays
That sit heavy on a soul
It's not the weekend, it's just Fridays
That would steal her glow
It's not the weekend, only Fridays

trill highest those
of lowest shrill
call mighty from
the lowest crawl
cry loudest
those who are shy
for tenderness
those among the horde
those souls
who bear a world of blows
going on however
they find a way knowing
someday
it's all going to go their way
or just gave up
hoping for
one day
to come along