justwrite 11 december

the moon is a wet on wet watercolor smothering the opposite of pigment the pigman a day no will die crying for some sleepy town to wake up and squeegee the sidewalk for the worms are having a day and a half and i'd have to laugh if you asked but for now i'm keeping it to myself and the shelf is overflowing with notes i've taken and baken into pies and madeup words mostly like cookies looking backwards into the glass ceiling chasing white habits and underground rabbits like no one's checking up the board or guessing the chess range out of style but if you tell me what the time is i can tell you where to go