You once were a dish sponge.
Now you clean tiles.
Tn the bathroom,
where sponges go to die, and I'm
not water-tight, any more,
but I'm pushing off, from the shore.
Tilt my head back for the bleeding.
Make your hands hardy for the holding of mine.
I stood up way, way too quickly.
What should I keep, and what's worth letting go of?
Am I
just, waiting for midday?
Moon, midday, moon.
When I've staunched it,
I'll let you know.
And you can hit me again in the nose,
and it's
not funny, in the end
but it, helps to laugh, until then.
A broom sweeping up its own bristles.
A thin bit of hair that falls over your eye.
I'm on a serious mission,
I'm so much stronger than anyone,
Ooh, it's just,
I'm waiting for midday.
Moon, midday, moon.