Wednesday, June 2, 2010

This man, like all other men, and women too,
(at least the ones not lunatic nor dying)
needed a future to take with him
into his Tuesday morning
(like his grandfather with gray felt fedora,
or grandmother with clayish armor
of red, red lips). 

And this man’s future
was bright and geometric and excellent,
like the images that come
if you press your thumbs long enough
onto clench-closed eyes.

After every Tuesday, a Wednesday and then Thursdays 
all ways
after that. 

“Wednesday,” says the lunatic,
“or more precisely Wotan’s Day –
or if you like, Odin’s Day
is a dead-end day
for the Tree-hugging, one-eye god,
who, you know, gets et finally
by hairy Fenrir pups
or an en’dragon
or some such monsters of the God-Dusk.”

This man laughs, with his
bright and geometric and excellent
This man in his Tuesday morning.
This man.