Jake's Flea Market

iv

daydream

the words you cannot read   abandon them

stare at a space on the wall where nothing’s written

in the gallery of your head   on a wall hangs
a perfect rendering of a pretty wench’s face

an accurate remembrance
of what her paps and her hips do to a gown

do arithmetic   think fingers   calculate
the number of months   of weeks   of days
before you’ll see her again