Mickey Monday
Mondays were GRAY (grey??), all of them,
Like a room FILLED with cigarette smoke.
Mickey would crawl on
All fours
Tracking something that had run a-w-a-y
Off into the dark woods
It ran
And would yelp hollowly
Beneath the desolation of the moon
Moon-day
1/7th of a life spent in shadow
“I ME I”
Mickey would chant to himself
Creating a seamless robe of subtle, subjective
sound . . .
The crows
Would attempt to break him
Hacking their laughter
From the high branches
And mocking his prayer
To an unseen throne
“I ME I, I ME I, I ME I”
This is the laughter
Of Forever.