I cannot abide the horrors in the hours when the coming day
Shouts and pulls at yesterday and derides him for a job poorly done
Leaving unfinished business on the table.

                                                         ­     Scraps and bones
                                                           ­   Tatterd sinew.
                                                          ­    Skin.
                                                       ­       Poor execution has left tomorrow
                                                        ­      With rotting clutter. Hear him
                                                              Mu­tter.
Not at rest fully now surfacing psyche able to stir
after corps-like slumber  judgement at the ready.
Shake the foreboding feeling
walking
through a graveyard something inches from my back
Grinning at my ignorance.
Pondering surprise.
Wake up and push the stone uphill
wake up and take your pill.