jumbledaya

8/16/05

as I sit here tonight before a time of slumber
doubtfully serene yet calling
things become blended in my head
like eggs and flour and sugar and stuff
a hotcake in my skull, part of a complete
headbreakfast
of salesmen cozily wrapped in sausages and
boxcars in barbeques –
hamburgers, mere hamburgers
the voice of death on the battlefield
the cries of the fallen like the mice
under
my
bed
who leave
grain
and turds
piled high
like kingly rats
who slide along
inside their rat-busses
made of ice
commuting to the office
in the dead
of summer

(don’t you love
the way
the cold feels?)

the rats do