I missed yesterday. I'm sorry.
I'm here now, and have to be
before the days, unyielding
in their one-after-the-otherness
become irredeemable, unyielding.
The situation's like Lucy's,
in the chocolate factory, standing at
the conveyor belt, unable
to stop the stuff from coming,
lacking capacity to meet its speed.
In this analogy, the chocolates on
the conveyor belt are the days,
Lucy's attempts to manage them,
for which she's being paid, are me
making poems, her giving up
and eating some and putting others in
her hat, a way to speed up a failure
the audience is encouraged to laugh at.
In this analogy, Lucy is me.