Bowing out along slippery
green blades swinging severed
limbs drenched in Sento and
Sonnets and the blistering gamots
of an uncertain shaking anxiety-
we forgot the book again
we forgot to read again.
It’s yellow outside, but we are all red.
And not all read, by shear virtue
we spend our nights in the company
of cigarettes and silly forgettable chatter,
neglecting perhaps an orgasmic
chapter or two, or maybe a just
listening to one of the many Prophets.
Let’s chug along anyway
let’s get to work sometime.