The Languor of This Day

The
lang-uuuuoor of this day
islike Fever
ten times bigger than me like an
anchor, sinking me instone.
waking up at
eleven is too
heavy for
me who hungersfor
product-
ivity, or similar shards of
glass. I polish
skin andsoul like
marbles or rocks
pebbles on the ground
like I'm sellingmyself
wholesale and wholesome.
So
someday I should
lay my head tosleep
some hours earlier
to rise like Shirley Temple from
a coffin witha window,
bright and bushy
instead of carrying
twothousandtwo like acrown on my head
collecting rain and hailstones,
thirsting for ajettison.
And someday, will I be
adequate in numbers and
figures to makeit,
as the tadpole is flushed
into a glistening party life
with neon upto my eyes and
tan from computer glare,
drowning with no shock
orsurprise in a head of hair
like a banyan tree
If I wake uplate
college-style and wait for a
while for the sound of my mommy.