Awake again. Again. Just yesterday
I woke this way, and clenched the same alarm
with soporific fists, and groaned the same
half-gibberish anathema. Again.
I startle out of bed, and stub my life
against another day. A rampage of days
unravels me like spools of sewing thread.
One day the first confusion in my head
at five A.M. was “someday I will die.
For all these days of waking, where am I?”