MORNING WONDERING

  the 
postman is late

  hes out there
  in
  the
struggling hatchback streets
  
          where
  clots of kids
  eyes down on glass palms
  walk to school in black
    to 
    unlearn wonder

  i write small 
    blab-pops
    of
eurgh & unmurder
    of
whatever & meh

then run a bath

wondering how many of YOU
  regularly
    piss
      in
        yours

and of Time / the rolling-over Sun
and
how
we
locked
it
into a machine we wear
  and
  live our lives
  on 
  its 
  numb47s