Wakes up at 6:30 and hops on to the treadmill.
The figurative kind. Imagine it, if you will.
Sleepwalking through the ablutions, until
Scalding jets from a shower head shrill.
Wakes you up for good. At least for now.
You pour a bowl of cereal, with milk in tow.
Distracted, unable to straighten your brow.
Time to commute and make it somehow.
Some days there's conversation on the way,
on others, just silence and mutual dismay.
On the automaton lives we live in this day.
Herded through paths without a say.
Yet in horizon, shining bright.
Like the only moon on a cloudy night.
You rise towards its dizzying height.
You embrace it even if its your kryptonite.
- Was sitting idle on my draft section for a long time. Finishing it felt necessary, though not satisfactory. Parts of it are fabrications. Most of it is untrue. But then you always knew that, didn't you.
1 comment:
Fabrication or not, we all need a red underwear with an "S" written on it, and definitely some kryptonite .. to survive in this mad world
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