Just once I'd like to wake up in the morning
without getting chirped at. Too much music
in the room and you lose the benefits
of regulation. I realize this is unrealistic,
not to mention overtly obstetric.
The executioner implied as much
when he curated his calendar
right in front of us. He likes to encourage the idea
that he's popular around town,
that he puts his bells on just like you:
one bell at a time. Better euthanize the moon
before it floats half-cocked into view;
we've evolved enough by now
to rectify our own ineffability
or ignore it, as circumstances require.
Anyone looking for a gatekeeper?
As for last night's sticker shock,
let me be totally honest with you:
No army can touch that, no wormy
apple inspector can evade its grasp for long.
Sooner or later the planet falls over
in fits of specious laughter at the scene
when the poor man's ejaculator
wipes his nose and calls it an off-brand day.