From Now On

I wake with silver, unweaned thoughts --

can’t-hold-my-pencil thoughts

with toothless skulls

and licorice-whip spines --

and to think that yesterday

I drew the sun a somber, black

orifice in the lefthand corner

and now it grew those little, yellow

slashes that turn me dalmatian

through the window.

Funny,

me and morning swore off smoking

at midnight, and it smells like hotel

breakfast on the furniture even though

it’s only Bisquick.

Have you ever seen

those squirrels that run on cable lines

and wondered why they don’t

use sidewalks? Well, maybe

that’s what used to keep

my door shut since I don’t have

a lock, and maybe that’s

why I’ve been electrocuted

more than once.

But, today, I have dreams

still suckling, and the blinds

give me prisoner-stripes,

but I don’t wear them

off the couch and I don’t remember

my umbrella, either, because

it makes raindrops apropos,

and it’s just as well if

I never suspect them again;

the days are already bled and rinsed,

from now on.