When the Day Doesn'T Know

The Sunday late morning came Like its twenty-five hundred ancestors The respite before the restlessness Tasks and tidbits filling the space between them And as I went outside Leaving my inner sanctum for the hearth we all reside The air seems cagey My sleep apnea infecting it overnight Well-lit tepid darkness sings in the day's broth Coddled by the dampened, miserable tinge that Lukewarm brings to a party Today forgot it's name Senior moment aside Maybe hungover like me from Desperate binge watching Though for Earth And the place it affords me It's nothing but routine So here's to the Jane Doe day And all the things we'd love to call her. (8/3/14)