Clouds in the sunrise sky like Superman ice cream and the neighbor is already ranting at the suspicious robins in his yard and the houses of the neighbors and their closed blinds and my television is blaring with strobe-light orange men and the failing Dutch and Tony Stark on mushrooms and ketamine and my inbox is already pinging with emails from students who have forgotten how to breathe and my eggs are frying in oil and burning my wallet and the kids with their broken guitars and chargers and drums and video games and notebooks and remotes are still asleep upstairs and the leaf blowers are already firing up out back and my mother is in Florida with the real crazies and here I am seeing only the shadows lining the trees and parked cars and wishing I could afford mind-altering drugs and golden toilets so I could grow the rainbow afro and red plush nose and cartwheel down the sidewalk spilling loose change from my baggy pockets for an Andalusian dog to find on its bouncing walk in the evening and lick clean while my eyes bleed on the stoop and coral snakes wind through the tall grass at the edge of my driveway and here the day has gone again with boiling veins and constitutions read in pig Latin.