Tuesdays...

have a way of forgetting what they are thinking.

I had another poem all set to go, but that was yesterday. Does that ever happen to you with creativity? That sort of thing where you're all set to create something beautiful and rare and wonderful, something strange and fine and new, but then time passes and it just slips past you like pudding off the spoon.

Ah, well. So it goes, so it goes. I feel a need to locate a toothbrush soon. It's that hour again.

See you in a while, after sleep has released me again.

A week old and an hour shy.

Two clouds like a matched set of ribbons
tie together the seams of the pallid green sky
a sliver of moon I borrowed from June
has followed us into July
With the thrum of the motor before us
and the rattling of metal on metal behind
I look to my hands for the rest of the plan
while I watch the sky's laces unwind

In the rest of the story, sleep has been following me lately, tripping me up and sending me sprawling when I take a moment to relax. Only a moment, and there I am, curled in a corner with a cat sitting on my head like a peculiar and prickly hat.

That's me, napping after work three out of the last five weekdays.

I haven't got any new and miraculous ideas this week, just a slow and subtle leak from my mental faucet.