The worst and longest Monday

This will be the longest and worst Monday

one to the streets, one to the pavement, one to the same, one to the mattress

words falling off the finger tips, shoulder to wrist and toward forever

retracing promises and former hours recognized and gone

wilted apples amidst the caravans and prisons cells

so ripe

only to be ripe

only to be lonely, whole and never melting and like a summers storm, a summers cry, a summers regret

let that cold come,

the world is cutting into my shoulders

Please could you hold this?

Thanks.

I don’t mean that.

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