Back when Friday was for crazy, Saturday insanity,
Sunday for laying in the dead, steamed like lobsters or clams,
there’d come again Monday of the miraculous resurrection.
This evening staring out at nothing,
he spots a stegosaurus tail end padding west.
He can tell it by the beat of its old blunted spikes.
Seeing the pattern, he nods and moves on,
stumbling after the dinosaur rumbling into darkness.
Lanning Lee 