18th.
day one, of two
two day tomorrow.
sorrow sounds off
a handball court.
ping, thunk. day three
the cats won’t eat red meat
laid out like a cadavered cow.
day, then a day, then a day, day four.
the 18th, i’ll wake, maybe, too
breakfast sausage, eggs, buttered toast
rosemary peach jam. getting me out
of the jam i’m in: strawberry.
blonde vanilla ice cream
passes for day five.
then, the answer on
day six to eternity:
the 18th.
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