My shoes won’t fit
anymore, the weatherman
works in maritime, speaks
in latin or tongues,

The rain is so slanted
it’s a wonder if it touches
the ground, and it never
stops, even under this roof,

The sun staggers drunkenly
and the moon has disappeared
completely, prisoner perhaps
of another galaxy,

But I’ve got problems enough
in this universe, a sand castle
being built and destroyed
over and over on my tv,
still when I turn it off, still
when I rip the cord from the wall–

Oh maker, you’re sipping chianti
while I struggle with the bandage
wrapped around my mind.

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