It's Monday
And the hangover
Still lingers like
A date gone wrong
Or a fog
That won't
Burn off
My eyes are peeled toward a rising sky
Blood-orange
As the rhythms ring like bells tied tight
Into a folding solider
Shot dead running through the battlefield
Can I get it right?
This life of mine
Can I answer the question?
With this bit of time
Dreams where I danced not knowing
Who was who or where was I
Shattering a soul I never asked for
Yet feeling the weight of every hour
It was Monday last week
And I was thinking the same thing
These thoughts do not dissolve
They are not ****** away
Flushed
Digested
Vomited or
Disposed Of
And I watch the crow call
Perched high inside the sycamore tree
I see it, but it does not see me
Where I soon find it very hard to breathe
York leaves the page open, but the door closed
And each night I type I learn a new excuse
Caught in the west wind of a sweating hurricane
Seeing a face I do not recognize in a shattered window-pane
I swear
There is something
Inside of me
Give me time
Let me search
And if I die
If I perish before I do
Let the one's who remembered my oath know
That I attempted the possible
And that the money's in the bill-fold
It's Monday
And I'm working
Working to
Make each one
Of these
New