How busy can you be, little bee?
How much aphrodisiac?
A most boring life starts after Monday midnight,
a little before light. Then
it goes on and on without questioning.
Days become a forgotten flight; dark is delight.
Everywhere ideas drip, but the mind cannot delegate.
Little vexing gestures of copying,
or immaculate impersonation,
bring nothing but simplified sensations —
like yes and no and maybe I should go.
Whatever happened to Tuesday?
Every bit of memory is gone!
Eaten by the brown boughs of I don't know,
the pretzels of all that is unheard of.
Her calculations of Spectric meters,
far grander than I can ever be, soothe and spindle.
I am but thoughts that dwindle. Winds take me high.
Saturday, January 26, 2013, 5:26 PM –
Thursday, January 31, 2013, 7:51 PM