When the television sounds
are all you hear at morning,
and the cereal tastes the same,
and the showers last until tomorrow,
your aloneness begs.
And the daily routines become
exercises of muscle memory,
which has been flawless since the
very first day, so walking out
seems almost olympian.
No one is as skilled at picking
up the phone as you, which is
almost as incredible at how
easily you consider
finding someplace new.
The day's closing but who
has heart to notice, after
all, tomorrow will just be
another today, except with
greater loss.
defending your bed
from vigilant sadness,
you're not really alone,
you've still got the broken
spirit
of solitude.
No comments:
Post a Comment