It’s a Monkish day: unpredictable,
all sharp edges, a bit jagged, fitful,
repetitive but beguilingly so.
A day to be taken straight, no chaser,
no buffer. A raw day, a risky one,
a day to seize chances and be shot down.
At any time – dawn, noonday, ‘round midnight –
nothing fits exactly, but melody
somehow survives, yes, even flourishes.
Looking for a key, a legend, a clear,
notated score? Well, you needn’t. The day
stops and starts but has a quirky rhythm
of its own, one that can be felt pulsing
beneath the dulling traffic of our lives.