I wait for the sun to explode,
sitting here, carbon monoxide and smoke detectors fully operational,
counting minutes, folding laundry.
One coffee, two coffee.
I look outside to get some sun; it is still in the sky.
I blink and it is gone.

I place hand on heart every morning,
pledge to get blood work done.
I count saturated fats, line up calorie columns.
When hungry, I tell my body
to adapt.

When my mind tells itself to quit working,
it makes these sounds:
You’re better than this.
Other people are making more money.
They’re younger and faster . . . catch up.
You will never be free.
And I tell my mind to stop thinking
and just work.
The sun is in the sky.

Somewhere there is war
and I don’t care.
There is work to do,
and miles to go
before hand eclipses heart
in tribute to a new song.

I wait for the moon to rise,
folding minutes into hours
One whiskey, two whiskey.
I look inside for some glimmer; the heart still out of my hands.
It beats for an instant and is gone.