up before monday at dawn,
then back down again;
I go staggering up
my front stairs because
I want a drink on
the other side of that
door.

sitting down
heavily — noticing
veins in my arms,
highways, tracing
blue routes. closing
my eyes and wonder
at my fragility, my
trembling before
a universal end.
but still, I’ve got work
to do here — this mind
isn’t going to lift itself.
I pour another cup of
something black-brown,
another gulp,
I drink before I bend to it.

something inside me
refuses to die just yet
until I’ve reached an
arbitrary point and
I’m not there yet,
although I’m close enough
to feel it sigh like a banshee
and then go back into hiding.

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