here we are once again
untouchable and
shifting words
without direction
the clock is stacked
against seven empty cans
as unpaid omens
linger in the background

delicate and waiting for opportunity
my cats are persistent this morning
and outside
everything seems blue,
antiquated
i’m not sure if it’s too early
or too late (time is such a flimsy concept)

this repeating montage
of death and resurrection
seems like such a strange way
to order the day
and it appears that the gods
still need time to dream