The Sun

Envious environ, without slumber. Mournful waking and dolorous sleep. No crosses in the aisle and no cookies in the bin, it went intercontinental thinking international. Josephine it is, and Josephine it does. And does. And does again.

Plusses walk with commas, and the aphid rousts the lion. Murder X and kill the Y. The occasional juggernaut is unwelcome, but treated to kidney pork. By all, the letters stop flowing. Height, weight, and build are without perfection.

Is it all it is? Reflexive, it curses. Out backwards, was the gleam in a moment for dreams and rhyme, now lower on the rung? Can future prediction achieve past lamentation? The man who saw the sun comes walking down the path.

The man who saw the sun for Josephine S. Blick, they wait. Speaking, ululation and defamation, inflamation, grievance and woe. A spray flies from her chest, and the man who saw the sun looms. She screams and he yells, yet all becomes silent.

All for ever, nothing gives. Bleak out and gray down. Lead solar paradox, H to He, gas to gold. Forward and forward is round and round. The demon asks what time for the novel, and it replies, "Wednesday."