Memorirs of the Brother

Another observation

The days run mad
scattered and tattered
by soft echoing sighs
that contemplates
reasons of inconsistency
simmering above the brow
till they boil down
straight into a pattern
that's only recongnized
throughout tomorrow.

The days ran dry
into a fluorescent haze
that fades in
but not out
slowly encouraging
each of their closing denials
before circling the spoon.

Wait, what day is it?