Routine

I apply myself,
more or less daily, to cleaning
the floor of the house where I live.
I still apply myself to my pills,
taking my pressure, popping my
finger daily to read the blood
and then writing it down, carefully,
in a book I keep for that purpose only.
Play one guitar or another, daily.
Wash dishes, frequently, daily;
leave one load overnight, almost daily.
Try to eat something during every day.
I sleep daily, like a clock. Almost daily.
Same time each night. Piss frequently,
three times daily; shit once or twice a week,
when I feel the need, which is less often
than daily. You ask, when do I write?
Amidst the daily chores
I find the time to sit for hours and hours
and try, but it is so damn hard
to do — maybe in the next life
when the floor is spotless and I am
out of pills and the guitar
has ceased to be a struggle
I will find the time and the will,
but don’t ask me again — I am trying
to shut down, waiting to shut down.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
onward,
T