Up Early

The anklebones as I lay them on the floor crack like old branches. The belt buckle cling-a-lings. The house is dark, the ventilation system laboring in its sleep. I drink some water. Urinate in the darkness, seated, wiping my slack face. I drink some water, I sit down at the desk. I hope that the muse will reward me today. Just today.

It has been a struggle lately: missing data, fatigue, ennui, spasms of depression and rage, minor plagues visited upon me from within and without. Dreams of boils, of endless staircases, of vast logical problems designed not to yield a solution but to paralyze the brain, of glasses with drooping stems that hang from the face like overcooked spaghetti. Disease bubbling up from some vast reservoir within me. Well, I suppose I will work it all out on the page. I will push on. I refuse to be cowed by these guardians. If my understanding of mythology is correct I am on the verge of a breakthrough.