Crashbox

'Now and again...'
(Chainsaw roaring in the background),
But the conclusion to this thought
Is never quite formed, and
Therefore never becomes a complete sentence
Between the morning storm clouds that fill the head
And the interruptions of
A Tall Idea Guy,
Who doesn't have a clue what it is he wants.
Of course,
It was better to get up
Out of bed,
Than feign illness;
But this is illness, at least in some fashion.
A disturbance,
An irrational and fearful apathy bred
From lack of sleep and
Disorderly habits.
Coffee however
Has healing powers over
Body
And even consoles the spirit a little...

'Now and again. Feels small to be in the world. Tired. Now and again.
The sinner scans the horizons,
Looking everywhere
Restless;
Desirous of his Lord.