wake up in the morning and what do i see
we are a hundred delayed reactions to what we want,
I wake up in the morning and I don’t
remember what you look like, and ‘published’
is getting to be such a funny word, the shining
netted nightingale-vortex of my alarm
clock tingles with Edith Piaf, with how she says, “Yes!
Yes, but wait!” By now the corner store
is wailing again, its tinny triumph of entrepreneurial
ghost – the radiator, the freezer, the spinning
bells of entry and exit. birds cannot compete.
there is a neon lining for everyone.