Gorilla estrangement was all the rage
in my room this morning. Bigger
and badder spectacles to fry
were not forthcoming. I tried dying
in a non-lethal manner, but that
only upset the wayward ray of
Precambrian sunstroke attempting to gain access
to my most select and least opinionated doldrums.
Time left over from last night's
brunch absorbed and confounded me.
Another hour went by and Sharon the chiropodist
dropped in for champagne and charades
but I wasn't in the mood for such shenanigans,
though indeed they were in short supply.
I was in the mood for art history,
a hobby of mine since my days in the post-apocalyptic
restaurant business. Tricks of the trade
included most of us in their undoing,
sly perambulators that we were not.
Care for some radishes? I thought so.
Unfortunately I have confiscated none
lately. Otherwise it'd be a regular
"radish fest" up in here. Or was it the phrase
"tree line perimeter" I had asked you to memorize?
Who's even here? Am I at one again
with the unstoppable, unbreakable pour
of glass into the morning,
fidgeting as new bogeys show
up for a symposium on my socks?
Nothing could be further from Duluth.