EVERYDAY MUST BE THE END OF THE WORLD (PART EIGHT)
unslouch your none-
too-gentle gyre, slough
off any of your burdensome
yestermorns, the broken lead
of an undesked pencil, chasms
gnawed into a disposable pen—
:;:
there is always another heavenly
façade under construction, obscured
behind all those sunfaded signs
promising the imminent arrival of
the “coming soon”, the faster food,
the I-am or the iamb or at least
convenience.























