This day has a forward spilling, a way of
filling way too fast. It’s past its prime and
out of time before lines are drawn in these
hourglass sands. Hand me something full
of face, less talk and tock, less ticked at
comewhatmay. Pay it forward, sure, but
can’t we take a breath? Let’s play around
with words and dance in our PJs, stretch
enough to know our own flailed limbs. Be
-gin here, see? Come, get sprung with me.
Oh, dear. It’s not so much today that’s hard, though today flies by indeed. Even tomorrow a.m., though I dread it, will not be the worst (because my body just be in shock at being woken up 1 hour earlier) — it will be 3 or 4 days in, when the body will really rebel, and yet the tocking never pauses!
Gin is just what we need to get sprung… or just to muddle through this raw beGINning!