Today the morning faces me
with all my might

I ride in the world's back pocket,
bouncing about, jeansy

The day sports its androgynous some-day dress,
leaving all measures to tailors and carpenters;
sky roaring rolling rodeo roars
for jumpy jumpsuit poems,
while I remain downcast, upbeat,
heavy dictionaries on my lap

The washing machine on the bottom floor
exhales its soothing, wiggling, winding
white wind,
preparing us piccolo porno primates
for long thoughts, Bob Dylan's Ballad of a Thin Man
and a session cessation meditation,
prayer fliers flying from behind my ears,
almost everything, heretofore notwithstanding