As I lurch from my Precambrian slumber
I do Birds where my windows peek from under.
I boldly go where the wind is a frame of reference-
and serve the Empty a full spectrum of dislocation.
I Unnerve the Actual with a dark Plum
singing something UnNatural.
Grief drains the Pool of every Sea
while Poseidon slights the Farce
Of our Perpetual Carbon Farms.
while slinking into varicose
Dreams.

Disarmed.


II

it never feels like Wednesday the way you want it too.