Blest are they who, shaken from sleep, inherit time to fill.

Grate the hole in safe and finer chords and subdivisions,

Shut the brief case and pray in vain secret repetitions,

Indulge the hours, a stone to roll receive a snake to kill.

Wake and piss and wash and eat.

Drive and write and shop and bike.

Make and walk and cook and read.

Jog and watch and brush and die.

Blest are they who serve two masters, return and long waited.

Cut from the womb, by vernix blind to all but Christmas morn,

Entwined split twins, demented or disassociated,

Both reconstruct and strip back bare resented presents earned.

Fowl don’t sow what they reap.

Lilies wear no memory.

Dreams of yesterday repeat.

No mind lives eternally.

Night mating loud with dawn’s blurred crack cuts off quiet alarms.

Prying open tense morning jaws to loose the light of worms,

Sex shadows none on city roads’ uphill sun burnt rictus.

Whisper complicit surrender. Redact the stuck actors.

Take no thought for the morrow,

For it will take thought away.

Sufficient to its sorrow

Is the evil of the day.