WEBVTT

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This is called, "Sunday."

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And I hate Sunday.

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To me it's like sailing
off the edge of the world.

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It's like Columbus, something--

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going to fall off, Columbus.

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He should have come--

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He should have landed
in America on Sunday.

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Maybe he never
would have made it.

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[LAUGHTER]

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And the first line is-- the
title is also the first line.

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Sunday changeling props
a coffin against my door.

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Stains the windows with
its brown curtains.

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Floats belly up and
in my glass of water.

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I see its back in my mirror.

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Its hands walking in my shoes.

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I smell its piss
odor in my underwear.

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And when it peels off
the sheet onto my body,

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I yell, grab for its throat,
and get its mud heart

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shaped like a box and just
full of things you can't quite

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put your finger on.

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