banana peel world slips from my desk.
a million fruit fly grievances rise
from the air, the only unconserved energy--
the only constant creation, a buzz in my ear.
you think that to clean is to throw away.

but i like to hold my yellow flag streaming
out the yellow window while yellow summer
flits by on blanketwings wide as the sky.
our wagonyears come rolling down the street

kicking up every flavor of copper dust.
you peel sleep from your eyes and everything
takes the shape of the candle flame yawning,
everything falls asleep in the candle-gold of 6am
and wakes in the banana-peel arms of 1pm,

missing the sunrise but never the sun.
we are in the barrel of each other flying down
the cascade of tuesday afternoon, sock-sliding down
banana-peel streets, knowing yellow as a shade of gold