Giving up the day

16 03 2009

Don’t you wish you could give up just one fucking work day, as well?

These heavy clouds
make me feel like
the sky’s another land,
and I live underneath
its gray dirt belly.

The Skylanders bustle
with reports to write
and quarrels with family.
They loosen clumps of earth
in their impatient marching.

Chunks of atmosphere
pelt and bruise my roof,
sets my quiet house to crying
with all its shuttered eyes.

I watch the rain drops
crawl over panes of glass,
tributaries into rivers.

The pattering percussion
makes me lazen, brazen,

mellow on the inside.

No nervous bend of my back
or white light laptops today.

I leave that to the big people,
and listen to my cat’s rumble purr,
or coo condolences
to my inconsolable home.




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