Monday morning surprises me
Jumping out from my mind's shadows,
Whooping with a shrill alarm.
Another day at the paying job,
A world of negative energy,
Me clinging to it like a dissolving life preserver.
I write, the words come easily.
I read my work: the wrong words came.
A houseful of imposters claiming to belong.
The words don't come.
My mind is muddled,
Muddied and puddled.
I remind myself it is an episode,
Nothing more and never permanent;
Yet a damp cold pervades my gray attic.
I try to build sentences with feeble hands,
Tab A in Slot B, but I'm missing pieces.
The drips of frustration amid dusty cobwebs.
And Monday is usually my best day.
Monday, Monday.
Stupid Monday.
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