Robert Verdon, #325, trapped in a vein

morning strikes me
smelling like a penny in nitric acid
I get up and feel old then young then old
weigh myself, shower later
eat oats drink coffee
spring is getting on, like a tarnished penny-whistle
the future promises nothing but future
all talk is enervating but here there are only cats
sick of being grateful for small mercies
it achieves nothing
this choosing of little deaths over larger pains
I don’t bother opening the blind
the daylight is all x-rays this morning
the needle of my life is stuck
and I don’t use any more
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