Nutshell Kingdom: The Day
2003
This is a sick day.
A day like rain and beeswax.
It is the kind of day you
Can't take back.
The animals all hide on
Days like this.
They curl into little holes;
Cramped triangles, smell of
Wet fur and rotting wood.
The outdoor cafes are empty.
Their soundtracks entertain drenched
Sidewalks. The waitstaff
Plays hearts for yesterday's
Tip money.
A sick day.
It sits like a ball of twine at
The bottom of your stomach.
Rain and beeswax coat your skin.
Your hair is a little off.
Your eyes glow a bit more.
A day you can't take back.
It turns from you, wounded
Under the drip of awnings.
You can chase it down,
Turn it around, lose your sex
In the sound of water until
Your speech comes out perfect.
Ulterior motives are for sunny days.
Days like spinning prisms and waving
Tie-dye sheets over an open window.
Today
The colors are wrong.
The cable is fuzzy.
Other days are forever changed
By this day.
