It’s Only Wednesday

When your homemade ceramics
Are just creative cries for help
And all the chips they collect
Sit like a scars on your body,

When your mudslide mind
Shifts a crevasse to your mouth
And then chatters like hoodlums
Sat in gangs around potholes,

When your toddlers name their fingers
After pigs from petting zoos
And find themselves crying
After trying to milk a cat,

When the mantle-piece antlers start swelling
And the fake polar bear rug begins bleeding,

Close your eyes and inhale all the rainfall,
Exhale demons and then pat-a-cake stress;

Let your wig wander west,
Pick words up off the floor,
Let your tongue loll post-screaming
And let those dolls stay undressed,

Flop yourself back to bliss
Somewhere soundproofed and dark,
Bend your dreams back together
And lick your slate clean.

You are not one hour ago,
You are the simple inhalations
And exhalations of now,
You are only this moment,

No one can find you
And you’ve got the biscuits,

They’re safe.

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