Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

No Dime Show, no Bracken;
even the River Styx
refuses to float my boat.

Eight rejections
in just a single day.

Maybe my hay days
are over; maybe
I just can’t
anymore.

Maybe.
But…

—[||]—

I woke up early this morning and, among all of the other detritus that flows through this aging skull at 4AM, I had this ancient voice reminding me what day it was and reminding me to get up early again tomorrow singing Paul Simon’s Have A Good Time; reminding me that I should just go (back) to bed, just let the day go by unnoticed, ignored, and wait until the lyrics make some sense. Tomorrow. Maybe. Maybe Tomorrow. Maybe.

One thought on “Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

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