Under construction...but ima put it up anway..
When I woke up this morning, half
comatose, the only thing
on my mind even remotely
close to any definition of ‘challenge’ was
to rush and catch the 9:11 bus.
The only goal, to have breakfast
To make sure my clothes were ironed
Out, hair brushed, contacts
In place.
Keep up with this
Rat-race.
Trying to arrange, organise
The chaos in my mind, to still
The pendulum that is my world.
Uncurl.
It hits me that
The banality of my life, the stale
Menial detail, pettiness
Of my existence is laughable.
What are my goals? My challenges?
To think
I’ve made each day my battle,
Each day the ironed shirt my armour
The bus,
Last of the escaping fleet of ships, the
Breakfast
My last meal.
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