I’ve discovered an eighth day of the week
divided and grafted in the seven
like special cells demanding brain to seek
deep dreams while awake. I fly to heaven,
grovel in hell, float in limbo, manage
to win and lose love through dice games of soul,
unearth great plans to save the world, bless age
rather than fear it, take loving control
of the universe. I’m in the shower
when this day rises amidst the warm mist
of pelting water and steam, the power
of silky lather coating me from wrist
to ankle—skin of new humanity
caressing fantasy and sanity.
Roger Armbrust
October 12, 2008
