The sailboats will joust in the rain
If we hurry.
The wind stole my kite for its colors
And your last strand of gold hair, the string.
Ahoy, Tuesday Mountain!
In the face of wind’s boredom
I strut on the shingled peak.
Wednesday dangles her nipples from the clouds
While I blow my bugle.
The green rain turns the scene
A new rusty.
I remind my self it’s natural
To spit or put my lips
On the water fountain forming
A kiss on my bicep
In the bath tub.
Tomorrow, I plan to have Today embroidered
On my chest as a patch.
Justified in a turtleneck, I build a nest out of
From all shores you see only my back
So you can more easily imagine me.
(Note the red mark the barber made when
His razor jumped
Due to new battery.)
A cloud yawns near me.
The weather attracts sunbathers
To the old battlefield.
From Mount Tuesday I watch a fly
Land upon your buttery thigh.
From all corners come the owls!
Dressed in black they hoist night-time with pulleys.
We become transparent with beams of light,
Shadow-puppets on the belly of a dome.
Bruises appear all over my tongue
And I’m surrounded by bullies.
The bruises are only inside my tongue, I think.
Babysitters march out of the trees
And I fall hopelessly in love with them!
The sunbathers all went away
And left yellow patches where their bodies were.