day FOUR HUNDRED and SIXTY EIGHT

Diary of a Cockroach

this dark day
the panthers keep to the trees
moon eyes blinking to some
occult morse code
and through the street slashes
mighty Democracy
fede on oil and bloodshed
this day starting indigo
the deepest blue there is
the low murmur of nightmare
and thrashing panic
the sparrows keep to the eaves
the mailman calls in sick
every day is Sunday
on this insidious morning
milkless, sublime
while the schoolchildren
skip through the rain puddles
all these centuries past

--Jay Passer