in the minutes until midnight
i will have been reincarnated
for the fourth time today. this
has gotten rather ridiculous. i have
foresaken my friday nights for the seventh
time & my thoughts are just yelling, raving
& it got to be so, so much that i
sat down in the shower & could not
move or cry, but only sighed the loudest
most exhausting sound i have ever expelled.
my stitches have come undone at last,
& i am left threatening myself with
a revolution.

this must be me
with regrets
& gratitude
& an aching back

here are all my deadlines, clamouring
for a pound of flesh. making sense
from all the lack of it. oh, it
serves me right for being so
perfectly undecided in
the first

it is too late for good excuses, time
does not favour those who constantly
work against it. the question above
all, for the rest of my life, is
whether the morning will sustain
my renaissance? whether i will
change? & does strength flee
when it is most desired?