apostrophe

there are so many days
when the hours are arranged
like a computer's keyboard

in perfect rows running,
digits climbing 'long the top,
and jagged columns perceived

like a feuding couples'
divergent sense of time
that sends them into fits

and then there's this
tiny little character
on this gigantic key

staring me down to a hunch
from across my desk,
beckoning me to contract

the droning hours
spent spinning lyric yarn
when the whole house is resting

but i won't truncate,
i can't cut short,
telescope my distant vision

and i'll stay at it 'til dawn
because that tiny little
character is my witness

on the great big key
'tis the key to writing
with any sort of dialect

the only chance i'll have
for you to believe me
when i have to write you letters

once you've had too much.

breakfast

the tiles in the kitchen
have warped and cracked,
attacked by too much expansion,
too many contractions,

too many contradictions
of protein and carbohydrates,
too many starts of diets
and ends of loaves of bread,

the loathsome crusts
crumbled to dust and crumbs,
falling apart like meals
that rush by like menus

read all in one breath.