disorder of the day

and as Alfonso and i add

another blanket to our sleep chair,

there they are,

having lost their belongings

as they fled falling shrapnel

collapsing cherished roofs

to the very edge

of

their abducted open air prison,

occupied by "freedom & democracy"

(for us but not for you™);

shivering in wind wrapped tents,

listening for the revving

of approaching death,

looming in the "rules based" hoarders'

ordering of sky.

the night terror's error

so there we were, seeping sleep,

and rat-a-tat-tat-a-tat-tat

entered fiercely therein,

and it came to me i ought

to rouse myself,

for mayhaps mass murder

was taking place across the street.

moments later

it

finally waded in.

'twas naught but the

coordinated sifting

of

profit ridden rigging's

vigorous churning

of

fictional "years,"

when people cheer

the convened convenience

of closing compartmental doors

on what they've seen and done,

and pretend to enter another,

differently (indifferent)

narratively cordoned

(reflection ill afforded)

"good luck" ordered

(delusion blithely bordered) "happy new year."

and sighing sweet

(in the deeps replete)

the earth swivelled

on around

to fleetly face the sun

(on yet another imaginary

minutely measured "side")

the umpteen quadrillionth time.

and tickled by the two-leggeds'

unconvincing efforts

at reassuring tomfoolery,

Alfonso drifted back

to

seemless unseaming

and

ineffable

timeless dreaming's placeless keep.

*

- Evan Hawthorn

(on an innocent date that asked to remain nameless)