UPON WAKING

Listen to the notion
that you are something broken
needing to be fixed —
wherever was the truth in that?
The nights are long
and lonely
and darkness
stretches on to eternity
a skin
over tight muscles
freshly woken;
you fit right in
underneath all that.
Why change to belong
to the ideas you never wanted?
Irrationality seems everything:
nothing comes before
and nothing lasts after
holes fill and rearrange
energy changes
and so does time
so does matter.
You exercise your mind but
terrible are the thoughts
you offered space to;
that’s what binds you
that’s what breaks you.
Your place
is no place
but the place
you’ve given leeway to
and there is still time left to find It
when you make good on the promises
you whispered
between sleep and waking:
prayers that fell short of Heaven
and landed
lost in cotton
under the shapeless indentions of your mattress.
You’ll remember them, then
when you’re dying
but without time
there will be no reason left
for purpose.
For trying.
The human condition
is an endless conundrum
and what good is any of that
to anyone?

If we are all broken
then there is no set standard for perfection;
seek the softest form of contentment
instead.

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