plastic weekends

I make of this silence, a bowl
This madness, a sane girl’s song
They carry mountains they should climb
They wait for the week to break too

I hear my thoughts in your ear
I make of this scream, a howl
Melted from a night stretched apart
This night, this glorious moon, this brew

Let me bring another day along
Another song that marks rest
Rest too short it angers the newer days
And leaves a promise of stress as a clue

I make of this new day, a goal
And again, I am wrong.

LARDO