An other day

To sleep a day and awake and not know what to do is

what is the beginning of a new beginning

to the end of the end

that comes after the beginning.

That is what that day is.

 

The day that I woke

to own the beginning of the beginning

of the end and went to the toilet

to begin the ending of the end.

It was that day

 

I got caught

in the vortex of repetition

and unwitty regrets.

When no one was home

during the day

 

I still kept the music soft.

When I cooked breakfast in my pyjamas

and only washed half the dishes.

When I was cold and I could see the sun shine outside the window.

That was one of those days,

 

those days that pile up,

unremarkably pile

up to constitute an unacknowledged

flavour of consciousness.

Like stock time.

 

Just the nutrients of time:

Just that it passes.

And the unwritten letter

stays. A promise of another day,

another day that is a high note.

 

One of those days.

near the beginning of a beginning,

even if it’s a short beginning,

that ends before you notice it. It’s something

you remember to remember.

 

Then there’s these days.

Of memeless meanings.

Meaning

I am here again.

At the same beginning to a beginning

 

of an end near the end of the end

that comes after

the beginning and

before the real

end.