Day Seven

day seven

a shell to the sea
hear the river run there

ridiculous wishes
sustain the mind wandering
which is the way it goes

one day’s thought leaks into the next
the motion of the wheel accounted
not in steps taken but intended

by morning the dreaming mind
has made each bleat of the goat
the sound of someone throwing up

and why is this goat here anyway?

who cares?

distraction’s welcome
and bowels in sync at last