Philosophical Poetry Week: Metaphysical Monday

Though I know not, how it is there I can tell, what it is Though I know not, why it is there I can tell, what it is like It, is Monday Always first in weekdays Usually last in favour Manic is the bangles watchword Born into the unknown routine We sit and watch coffee stew A day of beginning or Merely repeating cycle? How did this come to pass? Why does it linger still? In the bleak light of dawn Cold coffee dregs hold no answers