Daylight Saving Sucks.

 What time is it even? Argh. I hate this.

I wrote all Saturday. All day. The writing was awesome. I feel like I got a foothold on the work and didn’t waste too much time tooling around on the Internet. I went to a yoga class with my notebook (frowned upon by some, but fuck that–if your poems wait for you, great. Mine require that I write them down whenever they show up). I went out, then was awake at 4 or 5 or 6 or whatever time on Sunday. I’m working on a long form poem right now, which is coming together finally, but because it requires holding so many things in my brain all at once, it was hard to get momentum on it with any noise/distraction. The absolute focus of a Saturday alone was what I needed to start to see the shape. Not even the distraction of chewing–see that smoothie? It’s a Janet Jackson time, ya’ll.

I love this clever dark poem, but it’s not your prompt. Your prompt is from our dear friend Drake. Watch. When have you been so disproportionately pissed? Daylight savings time is always so super weird. People are in extra shitty moods and everything seems unreasonable and designed to ruin our lives. Try to find reasons to laugh.

The Slow Envy of Stone
by Ron Houchin

The overcast sky avalanches down
the dull day. Gravel in the drive
willingly trip up your every step.

Boulders on the riverbank sing
suicide so low you hear it only
as mood. They offer their little ones

to fill your coat pockets and pull you down
like very patient body snatchers to where
they can take you over one cell at a time.