A potpourri day of flying bits propelled by a plump sleep’s spell
like a witches incantation, eye of newt mixed with chicken broth,
a bought book long-sought no right-minded would buy on a no frills schedule–
a leisurely dine on organic inspiration packaged in creativity’s cellophane–
a culinary conversion,
the bonding built on a daughter’s refined gustatory and intellectual tastes–
a car-ride, stool-side, angular conversation,
a juggle of pockets: dream, work, Rx, plan, execution, to-do, and vitamin D.
Promise pokes a gut-tickle brain as runners aglow recounting prayers of pause rush by.
Hard to catch my breath, like the moon sliced thinly
slivered to eighths, and thirds and halves tonight,
bitten, smothered, and bloodied, but largely ignored.
Has the moon absorbed ALL the air for its survival?
I gasp. And the battle rages outside the shop window,
the moon wrestling for light, struggling in the shadow.
Crescent beam rests on the palm frond near defeated,
gasping for a second wind before a last laser sabre stab.
And then–fade to dust, blackened sky longing, airless.
“Oh black night, I rest inside you, my Jonah, forgotten,
caged bones’ anonymity, unheard, unseen–un-re(a)d.”