Days

What are days for?
—Philip Larkin

Go on, tell me the stars don’t rule. 
Definitely Good Sex Days, Good Food
Days, Music, Money, etc., those days
in the Great State of Grace when you catch
your flight, nab a parking space, or herds of checks
find your mailbox like a watering hole.
Personal Injury Days, Missed Connections,
Bad Mail Days get you thinking:
maybe it’s a Good Bronc Busting Day,
or Marlin Fishing, a world record lurking
somewhere in the Gulf Stream you can’t afford
to find. Or how about Tossing Your Hat in the Ring,
or Going for a Walk Even Though It’s Raining
and Meeting Someone Who Will Change Your Life Day?
The Dying with Dignity Day, which you’ll inevitably
pass over in preference to a Dragged Screaming Away,
will be followed by a Good Friends and Fun
and One Hell of a Wake Day.

The Spell Chequer's SOS

I etch these words, scrape them
on the screen before your ayes,
how I’m held prisoner
in hear, a bear
and leafless land, wear,
surrounded by giant watches
that seam melted over every
dead limn, I sit
at a tall stool as wight
sheets congeal before me
like frost on glass.
I work very slowly,
underlining awl mistakes
in read, and writing
in watt should bee.
Although yew
once rote in those
short lines of yours that I’m
“super-sillious” (sic),
I’m sure you wont
to help, won’t turn
away and leave me
alone in hear
to dye. I do knot no
watt I’ve dun to urn this
punishment, tide to this
rock where words swoop down
at me, black as vultures.