Just a dank routine:
up and down,
back and forth,
toothbrush scurrying,
dipping in to clear
spotty enamel
in a phlegmatic life.
Splattering foul water
outside, inside,
back and forth,
you pamper your temper
and judge your grudge,
until nothing is obscure.
Then you look
at the woman in the mirror
with the teeth,
chewing out, talking about,
to hunt the immaculate;
so, you speed up to slow down,
while listening to
Sonny Clark who died when 31
still playing on the piano
Blue Minor.
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