This Day

This day is no special day

This day will see no placards given

This day will see no no dismembered limbs

Yet there buzzes a distant chainsaw

Whose sound comes in and out on the tinned wind

This day is a slow gesture

This day is just clearly not ready

It hopes for a year of iron clarity

But waits for the cues from the coming weeks

And for moss and stares ....? ....?

It's not clear how this day will end

But I have put my money down

On having a clear view from this house to the heavens

And back again, it's not clear how this day will end

Ahh!

This day feels like a cold engine

With a tank of old gasoline

Live your own mornings on ether

And tremble with anticipation as the sun goes down