_:nb1bab4cb4d5b47cd83e2f29959d8403bxb0
<http://schema.org/description>
"It was one of those mornings the earth seemed\r\nnot to have had any rest at all, her face dour\r\nand unrefreshed, no particular place-- subway,\r\npark-- expressed sufficient interest in present circumstances\r\nthough flowers popped up and tokens\r\ndropped down, deep in the turnstiles. And from\r\nthe dovecots nothing was released or killed.\r\nNo one seemed to mind, though everyone noticed.\r\nIf the alphabet died-- even the o collapsing, the l\r\na lance in its groin-- what of it? The question\r\n'krispies, flakes or loops?'-- always an indicator of\r\nattention-- took a turn for the worse, though crumpets\r\ncould still be successfully toasted: machines worked,\r\nthe idiom death warmed over was in use. By noon,\r\npostage stamps were half their width and worth\r\nbut no one stopped licking. Neutrinos passed,\r\nundetected. Corpulent clouds formed in the sky.\r\nTea was served at four. When the wind blew off a shingle\r\nor two, like hairs, and the scalp of the house began\r\nto howl, not a roofer nailed it down. That was that.\r\nWhen the moon came out and glowed like a night light\r\nloose in its socket, no one was captious, cautious or wise,\r\nthough the toes of a few behaved strangely in bed--\r\nthey peeped out of the blankets like insects' antennae,\r\nthen turned into periscopes scouting to see\r\nif the daze that was morning had actually managed to doze."
<https://poets.org/poem/daze/embed>