Tuesday Poem

Tuesday morning's faint kiss
is resinating tongue action.
Maybe I'll go down by the water
and spray the word KISS
in blue paint under the BQE.
The clanging residue of sloppy
memory functions like a cascade
of i-photos in a trance at dawn.
How do you spell relief?
The sun is switching the sky
from pewter to blue
while the bulldozer
of my heart pushes blood
into my skull, making my thoughts
feel tight and spastic. Or maybe
it's the coffee. I love the underdog
status of Tuesday, among the week of days
it lacks the the glamour of Friday
or the melancholy solace of Sunday
but it seems more relevant than
all the days and then
I start to think here I am.