Yesterday

I want again to be perfected. Everyday, awakening to fine-tuned platitudes, Agendas, each hour hanging before me Like coats on hangers. I want overcast and quiet; I want blue screens and coffee stains, Car exhaust and migraines. Most of all, I want to wake up and not feel like Setting myself on fire Purely out of spite. I want to wake up and not feel like The ground was yanked from beneath me, And I was suspended in the brief moment Before gravity. I want to drop dead from winding up the entropy, Ironing out the flesh across my face, Peeling off the scars I traced. I want to drop dead and stay. I don’t want another trip back from the grave, The festering stench of yesterday, Puking up the plans I made. So many years I tried to keep from being lost, To be back on top so I can at last leap off.