“Maybe today is more suited to a mélange.”
Mornings. In Verse.
“So, what kind of day is it today?”
Is it an argyle day? A foppish sort of kind of morning –
Maybe today is more suited to a mélange.
The sky doesn’t know what to do with itself.
The weatherwoman is not convincing.
Solid red works to get ahead.
(So says my former boss in publishing… I never liked him.)
And then there’s cashmere – when the world is cold and rigid and I want to tuck myself into something so outrageously soft…
But there’s a massive hole in the heel – Naturally.
Maybe today is of the classic white tube variety.
“Can you really improve on such an iconic piece of design?” [I marvel to myself as I examine it in the light.]
And even more:
My hands are sifting rather quickly now. I’m sweating. I’m late. I’m wired.
And it won’t matter what damn pair of socks I’m wearing
If I end up getting fired.
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