Morning's back broken by rooster, dawn, marrow's yolk
leaking into every world, its darkness permeates the most
remote outposts of their existence with flowers and bird-
song, clock ticking, morning breeze, storms slamming in-
to the Northeast like a drunken drummer but down here
clear, morning too late to be of use, too soon to bring us
to conclusion, yet where the entire permeable being still
stands, shaking from his dream, thus young the day
beyond repair, your ex-wife becomes the sister of your
mother, you need to take care of her, she's only two after
all, and brother, what do you do?, as diapers and bodily
fluids flow, flying into all the crevices, between walls for
instance, riding a swinging bridge (everything is far
away) I have so much to say of which I know nothing.

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