Reset Forty-Nine, Day Two Hundred Seventy-Five

[rejectomorph]

Whatever a day is you just have to deal with that I guess. No point trying to make one moment like another, they just stay what they are. For example I kept trying to make warm and sunny Saturday feel like the overcast and rainy days it replaced, but it just stayed sunny and warm and conjured up an abundance of singing birds, just to rub it in I'd assume. I was miserable. It didn't suit my mood at all. To avoid some of it I gave myself a nap that lasted into evening, and then made some dinner to eat while enjoying the nocturnal quiet. With luck I will soon go to sleep before another dismally bright and cheerful day dawns. Premature spring can't last forever.




Sunday Verse

Sunday At McDonald's

by A. A. Ammons


In the bleak land of foreverness no
one lives but only, crushed and buffeted,
now: now, now, now every star glints

perishing while now slides under and
away, slippery as light, time-vapor:
what can butterflies do or clear-eyed

babies gumming French fries—nature
is holding them, somehow, veering them
off into growth holdings, forms

brought to peaks of splendor, sharp
energies burring into each other to
set off new progressions through the

rustle and mix, rot and slush: is
this the way it is: sometimes a man
will stand up, clear and settled as

a bright day, and seem to look through
the longest times and roilings to
the still, star-bending, fixed ahead.