idfc if it doesn't even make sense vol. one

can't even fuckin figure out if    
today is still    
today    
or not  
or if it's    
friday  
or    
saturday by technicality  
but possibly still technically  
friday  
for the oooh!..possums  
and maybe  
this shift    
has my circadian rhythm    
just  
bamboozled  
but maybe    
i'm just    
blame shifting    
despite their calls of "sunrise"  
during twilight hours  
   
forever finding myself awaiting    
this.. j-o-b  
to ring-a-schwing-schwing  
yeah, batter-batter-batter  
schwiiiiiiing  
paychecks decorating the outfield  
   even though ornaments are for    
Christmas time, i thought  
   
   if you can afford them  
   
because i know when  
that hotline bling  
that can only mean  
      one    
      more shift hits a... homerun  
and to be fair  
i don't usually run as fast as i claim to  
   
silly me  
right  
and  
silly girl    
just remembered  
that we don't even have    
a phone number  
to be reported at-  
   
traded it  
for  
a bowl of trix cereal  
cause rabbits are a girl's best friend, i thought  
   
and i had hoped    
to find a best friend before    
the year's ending  
   
but i suppose you can't trust a    
foul    
    language  
       interpreter  
   
....ahem, ma'am    
   please cite the institution responsible  
for accrediting  
your accolades  
   
as well as    
   
your proclamations of    
correlation    
harvesting    
euphemisms of    
causation  
   
and to  
   
what degree  
of genetic-engineering  
have you sourced  
your almanac of  
alibis    
   
lest we disregard  
  our grievances  
   
of teachings tokenizing    
the h-u-m-a-n  
relevance to humanity  
   
leaving these  
principles    
slighted by  
poorly defined  
perspective    
portrayed  
as  
a
   -cute
          art
                -iculations
of  
reputable translation  
   
   
but at what  
expense  
and  
as a responsibility    
to whom  
   
   
aggregating these assertions    
   albeit as    
   amiss    
   as the  
   common denominator in    
   your    
   English language    
arouses an allure in the  
aesthetic of guilt  
campaigned to the  
ever-so-coy nature    
of conviction  
   
the tip of your    
tongue  
danced hand in hand  
   
with folklore    
   
until    
linear time fell    
tipsy off the  
exhaustion  
   
and fable    
   
bound the environment to silence  
as  
my home  
reared the emptiness of the bourbon bottle nested in  
my  
grieving womb