night lingers mid-morning I adopt the treble clef
a menacing repeat squeezed between signs
I feel attention pointing to reliable reprise
pretend then to have caused it
the treadmill sweet with honey
an exasperating woman dusting my newly shining windows
duration is a little rubber band translated to a banjo
I mingle with the signs of authenticity I take into my line of work
each of the would-be mothers having sharper angles than the actual
whom I resemble free in thought a mind she knows the way to work
it is always a spring morning always equally an evening in the fall
the smell of leaves burning the smell of shoots trying
I am ready for tonight when ledgers will be filled completely
with the character my fingers manufacture
slowly stolidly the rain will gather itself into a facet
worthy of remark and there will be another character in this play
this play will have been made for mental television
now I lay me down to on-site traffic in a swivel world of sweet swift logic
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