On the first day, they say there was light
illuminating a dusty corner nightstand
in the covered book nook of the mind;
a flame without a wick to love
or a 3.86 x 1026 watt flood,
opted against springing for LED
so it’s warm, but it’s losing blood.
On the second day, the sky and the sea
the beginning of being lost in long division
firmament pouring over thalassic depths
nuclear submarines
and bioluminescent echolocation.
On the third day, the shifting earth
like moths to an abandoned dusty drab shirt,
building blocks baking a straw man’s man
and the “strong” men who either strung them up
or gave them birth.
The fourth day, the winged chariot or hearse,
operated by Uber, busking peddlers to church;
the polite subliminal pseudonymity
of the kings who beheaded their queens
and the alms they paid and general malaise,
therapy days explaining away swatting and the perverse.
The fifth day, the circling carrion corpse,
succulent and rich, dining on
all manners of remorse.
Six, Sylvia Browne’s newest show
the six deadliest items your six year old
will touch tomorrow that you should know.
Seven, a Sudoku board with no solution,
crossroads present options, detours and optical illusions;
lead us by the hand to either the tropics or to cancer,
single-player and 90° - 120° longitude absolution.
On day eight, they called off the search,
as wreckage of the plane washed up on distant shores,
lottery ticket winning survivors never last long
for family is easy to find in or outside the church's holy doors.
loneliness is just the distance
between us and our natural habitats
on Mars.
Written for free-verse poetry maven 
thank you for the read
header photo bases are from the Liber Chronicarum and are public commons