sumday's lemma

postulate of whywehere
career of chalk rubbed temples
front of chaos scribbled board
Creator theorem boneyard
erroneously starting
with a “G” instead of “i”
far side of equals sign
aligning
opposite a question mark
now near rolls the juggernaut
judgement wheels the sacrifice slow grinding
last thought epiphanizing
that the exit interviewer
waits to see hypothesis deduced
not the one in desperation done
but complete proof of self
who woulda guessed
the spirit winds
would want to see the work?
/
hydro eccentric reservoir
ran dry from drought of stimulation
power to the City was
without warning cut off
Larkin Street apartment building
which from he last month evicted
had no choice but to evacuate
the pay on-time types too
bodegas closed and locked and chained
diner grill sizzle gone silent
those with dummy parachutes
crowded aimless
over-occupying space he previous
had thought ample abundant
waiting and degenerating
exponentially toward the sum
of importances and meanings
loose interpreted
from fuzzy mathed fib fairy tales
bedside lulla-lied
/
bush suite beats the Geary slope
construction there starts early
but Bill at Tommy’s Joynt shares dope
the Haight is not so friendly
the only safe odds bet’s the chill
which curling fetal less exposes
warmth a mind lie trick of will
coat pillow lined with roses
hope in nurtured roots
satisfaction in reflection
privileged class pursuits
far off course current direction
even all star schizophrenics
cannot simultaney-suffer
even online academics
cannot dream binary buffer
hunger now but only hurting
when compared to last week’s feast
filthy habit state reverting
blame it on the bad luck beast
/
Midge the graveyard grifter
alley earner who clocks out at dawn
nocturnal resorter
on a no way out
migration route
well versed in the sumday song
and sings it like all nightingales
with whistling crescendo
audible from curbside car window
tractoring her patrons
with perfect pitched false notes
freak fantasy connoisseur
trained in night trade tricks galore
but once, many potholes before
leaned into theorem chalk in hand
then as proof progressed
and fragile limestone stick ground down
traded in the last of it
for one surrender drag
from a sympathetic cigarette
and glimpsed the final answer
escaping to star rafters
with the smoke
/
Huxley wrote we dig our graves
with mouths in glutton fever
if that’s the case
Scant shoulda lived forever
instead of the immortal swingers
ever wanting it both ways
getting double pleasure pay
on perma holidays
Yeats of the streets
Market Street monk
found dead with stack of rants and rhymes
in pocket folded forty times
haunts Javier the Catholic cop
who found him in pose of prostration
halfway down stairs to BART station
trampled by late-runners
with cold muttered “rest in peace”’s
leaving to interpretation
if the message lies on worded lines or in the creases

songs of the sumday