It’s a Tuesday and the forecast is rain till Sunday
which I can manage as long as Sunday gets here soon
I know the test is to see how human I can be
in these less than human situations
but I’m not sure I care that much
Lilies of the Valley a sight back in spring
sweet smelling like female flesh in the shower
now, nearing autumn, just plush green blades
turning brown, the front garden withering
Without the jazz of Mingus doing his east coast
winding thing tonight would be all ideas
no things in themselves daring to hit the mark
– dance steps across the past, into tomorrow
where all the what happened dissolves
like a story unpublished, like flounces
out of focus and too far off to consider
It’s another Tuesday night – a few hours to myself
with nothing to do and next to nothing done so far
