Eulogy

Earth rolled over in its crib to a dangling star and it was one day...  

that no one cared.  
It wasn't that morning was the earliest rerun recounted in every fairytale of timely collections of magazine  
or that the windows exhumed mist.  
It was that the houses' eyelids froze mid-crack  
and collapsed to the mud carpet that tarped the dented floor  
that upstaged cement corners  
that encroached the hairy rock  
that buried the unmarked graves of rung-out sacraments to taxonomy,  
below even the whispering libido of Victor Ardisson's sweet-nothings to a Congress of rigor mortis pinky-toes.  
 
And in this, the people knocked their heads on doors enshrouded by circumstance  
with which to not be returned but a wooden shush,  
in the molting vents, to crocodile children and the partners that dip out backdoor in cross-dress,  
dogs without ovaries spreading for the season  
and, by owners' "over here",  
 
photographed in the lone heat of their fresh spay.  
 
But the sky was bright  
or dim when under all the overpass that took stead for Heaven.  
 
An early bird posed as a cow while puffing ozone  
like marbles and jacks, then on her feet  
in hazard to congeal into a tree,  
and naturally stumbled to a person,  
hammering her ankle against the tectonic plates  
that buzzed through her scanty bones.  
 
But she's not the sandpaper guy in fillet on the Chief's television,  
flickering in to the still dark  
curtains awaiting the press.  
 
No one cared that day  
and, though grinding in the late,  
they only wore the day further.  
 
What was today,  
but the day it all began  
that even smiles were bare to the bleached gums of instigated red.