Left. Right. Out.

An early evening nap–
A tired, aimless mind.
Feet and hands cramp–
nurse the breast, nurse the skin.
The TV on for company–
A friend awaits in the wings.
Too weary for now long winded rants
of Bono and the ego– who cares?
I try to outsmart the coldsore.
I try to get ahead.
My body mourns this month–
all over.
It wants to hold him with both hands–
while keeping the world at bay.
It wants to rest and sleep some more.
To tip its hat and remove its shoes–
To open up wide and let the sisters of mercy all sing in time.

Time and time and time again.



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