The world is flocked white
and I stretch my toes searching for your lingering warmth.
Absent.
It’s slow on the road today,
highway’s slick and I wish I could take a sick day.
Absent.
The world is flocked white
like it’s powdered me on the trees; I’m empty.
Absent.
The world is flocked white
I want to abrogate responsibility and hibernate.
Absent.
Sickness weighs heavy
body aches as if it is encased in cement
limbs do not want to move,
throat scratches,
eyes droop,
incision throbs,
skin shivers.
Every part of me weighed down
and longing to fall into sleep.
.
.
.
I’m definitely coming down with something! Yesterday I was falling asleep at 8 p.m. Tonight it wasn’t even 6 p.m. Good night!
This morning unfurling itself
I have awoken surly.
The low clouds match my mood
The sky is surly, too.
.
Inside the house,
the Christmas mess mocks
in its surly aftermath.
.
The snow plow
dragging itself through the city
scrapes with surly determination.
.
My surly swirl of grumpiness
has me in good company,
it seems.
