Exclusive Poem

Monday is made of pearl, it pops
dry and white and paltry, it claims a spooky
clarity I can't resist. I walk into the bright blue
of Bergen Street and the air funk whoosh of cars
zips a bright pantheon of rubber and steel, dip.
I don't lack stamina in the evolving light of no light.
I am really sailing, high tailing it right into the smack dab,
ricocheting dumb shits to prove my bronco genius to no one.
All my days come downy and greased, pulling on my sleeves,
dozens of them. A gray bird in the leafless tree is just as doomed.
I will slip on denim, drink coffee for luck and palm the sky
all fist pumping and regal, assured of nothing
but the sound of my feet walking to work.