It's never going to stop
being Friday
The Birth of Sacraments
is not Good.

Autumn is Friday's punch
in the gut of Summer   It's
always Friday.  The windblown
faded days are a trampled
graveyard.

Today is Friday and if I shovel
the fake faded Forrest of time
it is always Friday.  The perennial
glare of a Gregorian mistake.

Christ died for me on a
Friday!
Illusions of time passing are
like

Prayers

blown back

on a Friday.

Today tears the pages off.  You
flip it over.

Friday appears as oil from
the flood.  


Caroline Shank
9.2.2022