I tried to take the week by its horns
And make the days forget where they had to go
So some of them stayed for a bit, others shrank,
Some smiled and a few took off on unending journeys
Of pretentious play and no work.
Now the week sits about and stares at a wannabe wreck
So that I can look at the days that will gouge out my innards
Shake up the nonchalance till it bores through me
and trudge the pieces of me to the day after,
that glimmers only in tears and empty spaces
small empty spaces left as such by a going-away
a going-away that has lain silent, dug up the insides, stared
at the nonchalance and woken up in a whimpering stomach-knot.