friday you keep me
up hour after long
hour as if, when sleep
comes, the gains of the day
will reset and we will awake anew and
start all over
from point a
and
if you can will the day
to not end, will
the next morning to come
before the magic slippers
disappear, break,
crumble, etc., then
nothing changes.
but mayhaps
the secret of the old
tales
is that tomorrow, long
after the clock
has struck midnight and
all the thorns, poison apples, spell-
breaking kisses (etc.)
have vanished into legend
(or preceding pages) --
nothing, indeed, changes.
time goes on, we remain
the same, all things
that have happened
stay happened.
(so we revel
in perpetuity)
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