A wonky day starts with a good dream,
a dream which is ill-deserved:
one universe beyond belief
sliding seamlessly into the next
without even the courtesy
of erasing its tracks, its proof,
a cool river running down
a tunnel of warm guts.
It isn’t true
and it isn’t fair.
A zombie stands in the bathroom mirror
mumbling the correspondence
between Tom and Ground Control,
a morning numbed by too much good
which was ill-deserved,
A dentist steadily rubs on sugar,
grinds it into cavities and down throats
metering out his punishments
which were ill-deserved
while the radio plays.
Planet Earth is blue,
and there’s nothing I can do…