no coffee

i keep trying to watch this movie i haven’t been following the plot at all i just keep thinking, thinking, sticking things in my mouth: pens, fingers, the chappedness of my lips. piddling, fiddling, shabby, unwise. those are the thoughts i think.

the nights are all too quiet and the days are much too soft. i’ve jumped from between that rock and hard place and landed in a marsh. no matter how high i lift my feet, i can’t seem to advance at all. my arms, growing darker and more restless by the day, flail and flail and fail.

if i strain my ears a little, i can hear the morning come. the feet in sedans pressing onward, ho, and the gravel-packed wheels spinning this way, then that way, then three ways at once. i track all directions with lines in my head; some mornings it’s all i can hear. cars, dragging moans, coughing shit into air. zipping or dripping, it’s all the same. all abortive sighs in my ear.

wheels of all shapes, i beseech thee: barrow me away.

“your eyes look smaller and your face is pale.” that’s what the sun does to me, i says. even at night i can hear it shriek, “i’ll be back for more of you tomorrow!”

tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow again. inertia strips them all from in front of my face, leaving yesterdays to be lived over again with less flesh to cushion my falls. and still i bury my face in my arms, smothering myself asleep. sleep for tomorrow, sleep to divert, sleep to exhaust your dreams so they won’t haunt all the hours you think. but i haven’t had sizable sleeps in days. harrow me away.