Today the morning faces me

with all my might

I ride in the world's back pocket,

bouncing about, jeansy

The day sports its androgynous some-day dress,

leaving all measures to tailors and carpenters;

sky roaring rolling rodeo roars

for jumpy jumpsuit poems,

while I remain downcast, upbeat,

heavy dictionaries on my lap

The washing machine on the bottom floor

exhales its soothing, wiggling, winding

white wind,

preparing us piccolo porno primates

for long thoughts, Bob Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man

and a session cessation meditation,

prayer fliers flying from behind my ears,

almost everything, heretofore notwithstanding