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