A Jot

This is ink and that is paper;

the world is a nursery rhyme--

forget the words, you taste of feathers.

 

If the moon got confused

and didn't lie down, what color

would it and the sun shade the sky?

 

Agent Orange polluted my daydream

this morning and these teeth chatter

in-between prayers of Genisis.

 

Forget tanning--the light can't

be trusted and life exists

in the dark, deep ocean.

 

Sometimes, even windows

forget whether they are

meant to look out or peer in.

 

Notice: Wednesdays feel like Mondays

and Sundays feel like the turning of a

last page--funny how the ending marks a Monday morning.