today Sunday of this stupid echo
and I spend myself
dreaming once is all
and now is nothing
like days I don’t like
the dull whispers of
faraway cathedrals
the choirs of how we are
as a couple
in two showers
the soap stings my tongue
which cannot find enough
is a hurricane
of the blue sky
over a roseate hotel
is a nice sense of place
that you can call your own
and someone else sets you aflutter
originally published on a Pressed Wafer broadside
