My Panther Down

You should always know your times.
Your good times roll over what little remains:
a sliver of lemon on the chalkboard,
a pomegranate seed on a white sheet,
the ice blue sky full of silver planes.
My friend goes someplace warm
and meaningful. Outside, a sparky little day
is beginning -- the meaning of which hurts
my blue forehead. What makes the weather pop?
Why does granite taste like lime ice or oily water?
Don't eat the monuments, they are for the people.
The salt, a gush, Sainty and her effing moon talk.
We are laughing because that is the best thing to do
together when your arm stops hurting from the zombie flu shot
you'll see me pointing stuff out that makes you smile.