The wind drops violins, my ducks are misaligned,
and the day that you created is winding up
and winding down.
I’ve spread the margarine of time
across the bread and crossed it out.
I need no answers, Alícia,
to questions no-one asked.
Cakely words by Sara Lee
are baking in the oven
and I don’t know who’s to blame.
I’m going to clean my teeth and shave, Alícia,
start a company with unlimited impropriety
and crumpled business cards
with churlish words for you.
I can’t calculate you at all, Alícia,
with books of natural logarithms,
or hypergeometric series,
or Turing’s mechatronics.
And when I said
I’d pass my time with you,
that was just a typo.
I received your invoice for my life,
irrefutable memories and GST inclusive,
but I’ve spent my cash on spreadable toothpaste
and realistic origami herring.
My team of attorneys has failed me, Alícia,
and now they work pro bono on your defense.
I represent myself or someone else,
Your Honor. I’m at the mercy
of extemporaneous sanity.
On the Georges’ River headland,
you dance, you sing,
and the morning starts its engines.
I know that you call forth the day, Alícia,
but the night still falls like fish.
- Sara Lee, trademark of Sara Lee International Trademark Holdings LLC
- Turing machines
artwork the night falls like fish (part above), evolved from clouds by VEE, the visual evolution engine.