Sameness.
Lines that dwindle
in a finite distance
but return, yawning,
retreat again,
pulling walls with them.
The boomerang of the hour
just spent,
but back again,
to be lived again.
The thread unraveling,
longer each day,
hapless,
dragged through life’s leavings.
Eyes numb,
ears empty but for sounds of
the breathing self,
chewing,
the scraping of a plate.
World goal:
to live without touching.
We are safe from COVID —
hooray.
More thanks to photographer S.W. Berg.
Where some might suppose a tedium