Sunday, September 1


it's the mother-F*ing first of the month.
you know how it goes, neighbors-
i open my sleepy, weepy, creepy orange eyes,
and then i open my big fat flippin' mouth.
rules is rules, after all....
first thing first day first sounds?
it's the same series of syllables sounded out in sequence,
two times in a row.
this really does happen every time.
say it loud, say it proud,
and manifest the magic of imaginary results from impractical application.
making the good lucky magnetism attract and attach
all that cultivated coincidence and fortunate effect directly to our faces.
uhhh, yeah.
affixed to our personal space,
a force-to-be-reckoned-with-field of actualized activation,
and all because we repeat ourselves when we're awoken.
and set ourselves up to set things aright,
as the page flips and the calendar gets new words and numbers on it.
yeah, twice, even.
that's it.
it's slow going,
getting up and getting over and getting lucky.
a new day. a new month. a vacationy three-day weekend.
there must be some sort of good luck swimming above me,
hovering in the aether over my head,
the moisture vapor from my exhaled words trapping positivity
like a cumulonimbus cloud directly blotting out what little sunshine i see.
maybe it's like a uv-protectant barrier keeping all that harmful radiation
off of my delicate dome.
(could be what's left of my hair just isn't up to the task?)
so, yeah,
maybe i've managed to say the magic word,
and put a storm brewing all around me,
like i'm the eye,
and it's the blistering blasting thunder and lightning,
and all of it is all really happening
solely because i remembered to talk about bunnies
before i rolled over and said the normal complilation of complaining
the litany of wide-awakefulness would otherwise compose in prose
on the second through the thirtieth day of the month.
rabbit, rabbit.
here's hoping that those two little lop-eared nouns
do what bunnies do best and make much more of
making many more of themselves.
begetting that betterment within the battlements of the Fortress,
during the late summer septemberism of the woodsly goodness.
that's what i want;
never quiet, never soft.....

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