Everything must be smashed on a ceiling.
Fill the sea with sand,
throw javelins at the moon,
and have you yet embraced
your shadow?
Let the fire be your guide.
The conflagration sits outside,
deciding how to make the week more bearable:
sum up the page;
mix up the days.
A mind-reading doorframe
like a disembodied monster.
The fashion for greeting people with a headbutt
happily never really caught on.
At some stage,
we get back into the habit
of writing.
