this day is no special day
this day will see no placards given
this day will see no no dismembered limbs
yet there buzzes a distant chainsaw
whose sound comes in and out on the tinned wind
this day is a slow gesture
this day is just clearly not ready
it hopes for a year of iron clarity
but waits for the cues from the coming weeks
and for moss and stares blankly
it's not clear how this day will end
but i have put my money down
on having a clear view from this house to the heavens
and back again
it's not clear how this day will end
ahh!
this day feels like a cold engine
with a tank of old gasoline
live your own mornings on ether
and tremble with anticipation as the sun goes down