this is not serious
I rest in pastels
And the taste of junipers
I listen to quiet things
Wrapped in seedy cotton
I have no visitors or appointments
my phone rings inside a clam shell at the bottom of an unknown ocean
Uncharted,unnamed and full of sailfish
With painted sails that tell the stories that
no one ever wrote and no one will ever see
This ocean is for me to sleep on
in an island that floats like a cushion on the waves
The turtles in the lagoon are huge
and harmless as the manatees that sing out like whales
They wake me gently and send me down
to the shore
a deep breath allows me to fetch my phone from the tired clam
I swim into Monday as the sun rises in the pines.
I pull off three pine needles and place them in my mouth.
I search for a light yellow shirt I had as a child.
And now it’s just another Matrix Monday.
I walk through a thousand green doors
And all the bullets fall through the floor
Because I rested out at sea
Preparing for what they do to me
In a place that never changes
Why must I be on guard
Why do I need an ocean
To hide me from the things that seem?
I have never hated Monday
but sometimes I think that it hates me.