Today was fine
almost like basement wine
forgot about but found
when never looking.
I think I brought it down
when I got back from
some other town,
and put it on the shelf
I barely look at.
The puddles from the early
rain were mercury
in concrete clearly concentrated
on giving back the sky
all that it loses in the breaking
of the morning through
the barricades of night
left in the way.
There could not be a better day
as far as how it’s all been going recently.
These sort of summer streets,
of halfway May, taking me
and everyone away.
I say goodbye to her before
I drive over the broken glass
from bulbs burst from a pulse
of too much power,
and since this morning in the shower,
I have no clear idea why
I’ve become so angry.
Teleporting Typewriter 