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Sunday
Sunday began with a sundering ache,
belching from fault lines at base of my skull
and flooding into my eyes.
Alone on the tile floor, I began to get sick
and lost so much alcohol in the bed of the trash.
Afterward, sleeping was all that I had
and I woke hours later, feeling refreshed.
Much of the day I toiled on skins,
removing and depleting all current covers,
replacing them all with loving selection
and gawking with sticks at this new-found timbre.
I left and returned and flexed and adjusted,
admiring, adhering and falling down stairs,
all with the clamor and rambling ting
of metal on heart strings and rumbling stones.
Then with a friend I ate and made merry,
smoking like fiends in back alley bars
just before law came carrying clubs,
just before making our only big break.
Amidst all the static and shenanigan serial,
I made conversation with wits made of curves.
And all that combines to form many miles,
set at a distance just to ask for a rise,
deplete and enlighten, feign the divine,
and leave both parties feeling at loss.
And though the clock says Monday,
I think I'll continue my Sunday
for a while yet further.
It was a pretty good one, in the end.
