Daylight

11-26-16-4

Things get back to slipping

Smelling like something burning in a church.

Books pile up on the futon like dishes in the sink

Or vice versa  or Vice vs. Virtue

 

For all that it matters.

Memory is soup scalding the tip of your tongue

Cursing yourself for impatience.

But the check may clear yet.

 

The days are liquid

Like quicksilver in your hands

Heavy and poisonous as the mercury

Kept in a small recyclable plastic vial

 

In the pantry off the kitchen,

Its lid snapped tight, expiration date mutable

Unlike its neighbor the macaroni & cheese.

If I make coffee, will you stay for a cup?

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