Wednesday

on

Wednesday

which was a

very good day indeed
to become blind
and to
stand at the
feet of a stone
saint or pick up
a violin
and play it perfectly

the
excitable sky
bounded
into a lover's
starry

crown

of being well made in an imperfect way-

there outside
the brick building
thru'
the absolute mess of punctuation
reigning out the windowlegdes

he

held a score to a famous opera. and sighed. and smoked a cigarette. it was a good cigarette, one he remembered from
the days when ill cloaked warriors impaled
themselves for him.

a crow
cackled like it
was laughing

it was

an that
was the absurdity
of humor. now.

oh romantic sky. northerly. breathing and singing
northerly

it was Wednesday. a very nice day to rain. or lead a small child to an old man's book shelf. and "grandfather you believed in these things?" he was blind. he can still see. that is blindness on Wednesday,

at least.