| the kids line up into formation like a long math problem laid on its side.
|
| the holy gymnasium’s swamped with the poems of workbook slaves at the old
|
| wooden traps
|
| with the black hole ink wells, hearts all sunk.
|
| where is the pill that they give to the astronaut in case
|
| he’s marooned in a fifth grade classroom, crammed in the blank page
|
| with biker shorts and nike airs like in a catholic mass
|
| where you sit, stand, sit, shift your weight and shrug.
|
| loiter in a church and the statues will make you to leave.
|
| you yawn like you live off the grid in the house on the hill,
|
| nucleus of a freshman novel or a forty year yo-yo nodding off on the train.
|
| your family’s all quitters except for your father,
|
| spine of a floor model, honest and decent.
|
| modern wife bore had a mother who beat her with a broomstick, complexion,
|
| behavior obedience.
|
| you’re looking forward to the de ja vu twicelight.
|
| scientists concur that the precise measurement of any standard moment is
|
| forty-five minutes.
|
| the hypnotist’s liver is swelled with the wishes of college kids stuck on a
|
| choice of career.
|
| they feed it a magazine, twenty-first century gypsy’s equipped with a trap door
|
| stomach.
|
| have to keep reminding self, it’s all gray area,
|
| not a stitch of daylight for the lifer librarian,
|
| marry one that cooks well, sleep in on the weekends,
|
| self discovery hurts like a witch hunt.
|
| enter chuck and flav for the ride out. |