Boring as a Brick
Sameness.
Ennui unending.
Loops and laps I mull around in my skull,
and it lulls me, dulls me,
numbs me, glums me,
slows me, sluggish,
lays me down, down, flat, still,
unmoving, unchanging,
in humdrum boredom and tedium.
Mundane, drab drag.
Arid, insipid, vapid mind.
Repeat the same chores daily,
washing dishes, the same dishes,
the same routine,
rinse and drip dry, rinse and drip dry,
over and over and over again.
Housework and farm work will not stay done.
Some force of life there is
that undoes it every day, and if it is not redone,
builds entropy invisibly,
creeping up upon the unwary.
Turn your back, look back, and there it is,
a speck of dust fell and added to the pile.
Motes of dust dance on moonbeams, saying,
“Ha, ha! We are lighter and fleeter than thee!”
stirring lazily in the still air, stifling thought.
A silverfish scuttles into the spine of a book.
A moth flickers frustration against the lamp.
The cat flicks an ear and rolls over in sleep.
A spider creeps up a web to wait in ambush
and drops its spider dirt. Splat.
On the other side of glass,
the moon dives behind clouds
casting the world in monotones of grey.
A mopoke hoots a two-note, up-down,
upside-down question
amid the drone of cicadas.
Night slips by. The clock ticks. Ticks. Ticks.
Something subtly shifts, noticing what is.
This post was edited by inky at April 23, 2019 6:48 PM MDT
inky 