Always Continues

A day without a half hour
in my journal is like today,
a day without a poop.

A simple simile,
forcing out a squeaky smile,
doubling up verbs
that should have been
sold separately. 

Batteries are 
a terrible metaphor.
So are computers.
I like clouds
for their versatility.
Also, water
in other forms.

I used to write poems
pure abstractions.
I want you to know that. 
I want you to know
that I will probably stop
telling you what I'm telling you
and revert to some other kind of play
with the words that perhaps we will share.

I am learning
what readers want. 
I do not know how. 
Maybe I am not.
I am merely self-descriptive
                              -oriented
                                 -elliptical.

Do not follow me
into this gentle good night,
let your mind stay
with the nothing
that whatever time you have
always continues to promise.