What's in a God **** Day?

phil-smith Poems

What's in a god **** day? Ten days ago, I was in the backseat of a 2008 Chrysler Minivan. One hundred days ago, I was stumbling and climbing in Burlington, reborn. What's in a god **** day? What's in a god **** day? Three hundred and sixty-five days ago, I was trapped, homeless and loveless, in a private, Stepford-studded sort of way. What's in a god **** day? You tell me-- but I've learned that while my streets may change, the concrete is always the same. One thousand days ago, I passed the baton to Richie Sullivan, thus turning my wild, private reality on its dainty little head. Five thousand days ago, I learned that Gregory was going to New Zealand for three hundred and sixty-five days, give or take a few. But what's in a god **** day? What's in a god **** day? Yesterday I spoke with Janina, today I did the same, and tomorrow I will speak with her as well. Yesterday I did not speak with Conor McCall or Brian Gagnon or Julia Ginsburg though I knew them all once. I will not speak with them today, or tomorrow, either. What's in a god **** day?