Day Three-thousand: Safe
as unlocked doors in quiet
Day Three-thousand and One:
the air, like plaster of Paris, is damp
Day 3002: tired as groundhogs,
lazing like summertime children
in Knickerbocker Glory dreams.
Day 3003: Fusion warnings and cautious
behaviour. Value of life is deemed via
protective equipment worn. I’m sorry
is not accepted at this location.
Day 3004: The control rod of mundane
sanity is faulty. It will not go back into
Day 3005: Things have turned to ash,
the forests have split, endings drawn down
the branches. The land is bleached and nothing
Day Zero: there was no smoke left to settle.
Itching bristles replace the discomfort of a washing
basin on your shoulders. The town criers are ringing
their bells as if they were bored children holding