the moon
may I rise.
Are you done for the night?
Did you quell all their cries?

The moon doesn’t ask
the sun
are you done for the day?
Did you warm their cold faces?
Did you cover the grey?

The cloud doesn’t ask
the sky
can I cover your blue.
with my puffy, shaped white
poured on thick just like glue.

The sky doesn’t ask
the cloud
shall we part.
I’m waiting for a star
to give me his heart.

Then neither shall I ask
for what I must do.
And in return –
Neither will you.

my bones,
old and worn
wrapped up in
a wrinkled

skin. And my organs,
which will rest
for eternity
in my chest. But the

difference between me
and you
is I will bring
with me the truth. You

were buried with
your lies.
Not all have surfaced –
No surprise

But when I hear
the restless wind
I’ll think about
our awkward sin.

hair
in rollers
for curls
that bounce

I set my
table
for food
in large amounts

I set my
clock
for eastern
standard time

I set my
oven
for three hundred
and fifty degrees

I set my
mind
to do
what I please

with a glint in his eye
of mayhem. He worked in houses
of bedlam. More books line his walls
than there are leaves in the fall. His hands

are small and thick. His brain
quick with wit. He looks like Jon
Stewart. He loves to cook up roasts and
trouble. He sure looks cute with his wavy hair,

unshaved and stubble. He’s quite compact
for a little man. But his biceps are bigger
than any bill on a toucan. I’ve sort of have
a crush on him. He’s my type of man.

This is a big day and as it stretches away into the distance
I feel small in a small way, but as it's Wednesday it's okay.

Exercising my imagination by opening my eyes,
one at a time, don't want to overdo it.

Anyway
I got some rest and now must get dressed
head off to the dungeon
located in West One and the day will carry on,
the end becoming clearer the nearer I get to it.