…

the morning wore a fez
& everyone ate flapjack

perhaps the stars agree
& so the starlings crow

the robins didn’t peck
the archbishop’s fat balls

beginning when its spinning
upon this cosmic egg

a ripple in your journal
& colonel mustard’s gas

the gaps between each simile
a sea of silver darlings

a varnished table leg
a cappuccino sheen

the ghost of old november
her bugles & bassoons

remember this & glisten
the river in your ear

a disappearing here
the horn on each gazelle

electric jellied eels
she’ll never text you back

the evening burped too soon
a dirge in perfect purple

…