Day like a Russian novel

The grind of a thousand sharp and 

Miniscule voices

Are making getting through the day

Like getting through Tolstoy

Not that I have yet tried

Though nor am I really trying to get through the day

But rather hide

Kill time

Wish life

Away

The drill has broken surface now

At mid-afternoon

And will quite soon take purchase in the skull

Then there’s no going back

It’s either run out or take the window

No third option

Even the air grinds against it all now

An increase in heavy elements

It’s the kind of day that has been

And will again come around

Wherein you want more than

Anything

To grab them by the shoulders and scream

WHAT ARE YOU DOING

In the most basic meaning of that question

Seriously

What are you

Doing..?

Nasrudin

Get yourself a day

A week or month

A year if you can

When standing at

The cliff edge

Remember that the water can kill you

Or catch you

In the same way your fear

Is a fire that can

Cook your food or burn down your house

Use it correctly and do not forget

To breathe

I repeat this often

Everything you think to be right

Is right

There is no opinion to which you

Must concede

Base all your decisions on love

And power and belief in every

Single thing you have not yet accomplished

Tomorrow is not the following day

Or the next

Nor the one after that

Get what time you can

Scrimp and save for it

Con someone out of it

Grift for it

And

Maybe the horses will sing.

Late heavy bombardment

All it takes is a punch to the chest

A face squeezed into disdain

A cold shoulder

A blank stare

All it takes is a clever remark

A dripping sound on the windowsill

A grey Monday or blue Wednesday

A spilled cup of coffee

The presence of the foolish

Miniscule factors

Non-events of the everyday

All it takes to get here

To push blue ink

Or Black charcoal

Or Red blood cells into the grain of

The paper

To forget to breathe

And they grow

Like an avalanche of trifling insecurities

Until the building

The street

The city enfolds and crushes

Down

When

Only the purest choices remain

Relinquish yourself

Or fight your way up and toward

Some glimmer of remaining hope

All it takes is a silent knife

Or the wrong song

For the least of them to win the day

And

Your surface may show the scars

But meanwhile the awareness of

Breathing

Will keep you orbiting until the time comes

To rest and review and to

Accept that all the hits did not stop you

From reaching the end in one piece.