Where my brain
hails from,
isn’t a glorious place with
no secrets
or rooting fingertips
trying to dig out dreams.
I reached my intuitive.
Read records and lay lost
with the most curious
of results.
She couldn’t help me.
Another and yet another
attempt at everything
meshed together for your love
and the power of temperate
pulsing.
The slow twitch of my arm
Tomorrow has crept up
with its laziness, asking
forgiveness now
for being so tired.
The glowing man on the walk sign gets down and in the dusk,
he whispers “there, there, Tomorrow,”
I know you already can’t see straight, motivation is swirling
into the blackness of reclaimed water cycles and the death of
the backyard flowers.
But I have to get back into that sign again
and will only be able to show
you my true self this one time.
You, Tomorrow, you have it good.”
Tomorrow tries to put on a better face.
Puts their feet on the table and says,
“That’s right.
But do you know anything
about melatonin or
ambient nights under the moon?”