Moony Thursday


When Chronos holds you
in his gaze, maybe 
it's time to take 
a step backwards across
the hot coals & ease
your way onto 
the futon long indented
by your lumpen,
slumping form.  Mourning takes
in its own cool way 
& we come to a place
where you're so far
down that even the infernal 
salamanders won't come
when you call.  Looking 
out through a moon-shaped hole
in you is psychosis, a bad 
penny like an extinct pigeon
come to share the good 
news: thou art about 
to rise up from your chains
like a snail from its shell;
I've actually had better
Fridays; the mind is 
its own place & needs 
vacuumed & smudged---milord
only an idiot returns 
to the scene of the crime.


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