work schedule

your door broke its bell,
ringing saunter

down 17th, while you
spread your jokes

and the mouth can be so clean,
at times,

when the tiles of sanctuary
are scrubbed loneliness.

and the unmoved smiles of the web
are not enough.

and i never cared for your jokes.
the smell of them

makes me sad

like butchers cutting goats.

but we don't know any better
so i guess its ok.

and there is always next time.
i know

because the work schedule is on
the freezer,

and in the hallway,
its not changing anytime soon.