A morn' too short
To hold my dream of
A blissless trek, a
Mad tramp through
Trash-strewn gaps in
The Dreamtime, alleys
Littered lots, trails on
No map that I know, yet
Some instinct both
Old and cold took
Hold, my hand was held
Was pulled and I
Impelled to follow
No bird so hard had
Ever fled for home, never
Knowing why or what it
Was that led, which no
Knowledge fed, but still
No hesitation in
My tread, no trepidation
In my head all hollow, thoughtless,
Wilful while all bereft of will
And inside no "I" to guide
Or fight against
My headlong flight
That must've lasted all the night
'Til mornings laser did ignite
Both eye and mind with
Sunlight bright
And to what did I awake?
My bed a shambles, all
Covers thrown, body aching to
The bone, my martyred muscles
Full afire, the purest pain from
Pore to core and plainly plastered
Over all, one burning question:
Whatever for?
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