Saturday are the best
after you’ve slept enough and can still sleep more and maybe take a nap afterward and you don’t have to do anything except lay around and possibly make a loaf of bread and go to that barbecue at 3. You can play records if you want and maybe even Mozart who is too happy for you usually but on Saturdays he’s ok because his head matches your head and you can hum together across the centuries. You can drink milk today and are excited for it and maybe sit on the couch under the light drinking it and reading the Iliad in the evening and feel it sounding like a song and as you read it you hear it singing in your head. The meaning of all poetry can escape you on Saturday because meaning means nothing and it’s just sounds and phrases like music and it hits you deeper like music hits you but not like meaning which is always shallow a goddamn swamp. Music is ocean.
Damn it feels good to be a gangsta.
