This day

This day is no special day
This day will see no placards given
This day will see no no dismembered limbs
Yet there buzzes a distant chainsaw
Whose sound comes in and out on the tinned wind...

This day is a slow gesture
This day is just clearly not ready
It hopes for a year of iron clarity
But waits for the cues from the coming weeks
And for moss and stares...

It's not clear how this day will end
But I have put my money down
On having a clear view from this house to the heavens
And back again, it's not clear how this day will end...

Ahh!

This day feels like a cold engine
With a tank of old gasoline
Live your own mornings on ether
And tremble with anticipation as the sun goes down...

This day is no special day
This day will see no placards given
This day will see no no dismembered limbs...