Sunnyside Up

 

 

Painting with a mop and bucket in the sun:

When what was left of you dried

I fried the eggs and let you see

The first of many horizons

Set to disappoint with hope.

In the corner of another room

Rising as she does the Rorschach from above

The stain blooms

After heavy rain the island swims

And midgets groom like vim the upland coming

And up and coming land.

We the living!

Shelter in a sandbox,

Filter with our toes where next to walk

On nails or hot coals.

The stain rises from its park at dawn and walks into the west

To die like some panting beast in the shade,

The sun takes back her eyes,

I bimble on, my mop in hand

Outline new men and cry our act.