There are mornings I wake
more rested than ever.
those are the days
that typically lead me
right down the shitter.
I’m not sure why.
Maybe it’s because I am not used to waking
That’s what sleep is supposed to do, right?
Rest us. Repair us. Prepare us.
So we can be the best
we can be.
But don’t say that or write it.
Don’t make it known.
Honesty is a disappointment.
It makes a man
fall short of expectations,
and illuminates misalignment with prescribed paradigms.
Just shove it down.
I’m so used to running on empty—go, go, go—
that waking with energy and clarity
My mind makes more revolutions.
The bearings spin so much.
I need lubrication.
To keep from burning up.
My fingers need to move over the keys
for more than a few minutes a day.
I need an outlet—
like steam whistling out of a teapot.
Nobody wants to burst.
Stare too long at the rafters.