the love song of j alfred pennyguy

[a question for wrote a thousand letters]


where will we go, you & i
since this evening has missed its mark,
missed the sky,

and hurt, lies as a patient etherised

while above, perhaps below,
we have restless nights for breakfast
grow obese on time,
lifting and dropping it on our plate

and wait for inchoate tomorrows
to sing their song to us
till we fall, dreamlessly, to sleep.