I told a secret once
To Friday
Of the anger
Piling up,
Like so many bankrupt
Weekdays kept in line
By feigning interest
And the gist of every one
Of them time wasted.

I told a secret
Of self-medicating,
Of every bitter pill
I swallowed
For some Monday motivation,
And I know their just placebos
But their saccharine
Does me well.

And no one ever noticed,
But the Friday that I told,
How Sunday’s mournful wait
Performs an elegy for errors
Made on days I’ve spent
In thoughtless seconds,
How eloquently passed
Those tender injuries recycled
Every day before today,
And how tomorrow
Counts them off
Like chances missed
Between the clock tics
So their silence punctuates
The sentences I’ve made.

I told a secret to a Friday
Of the times I loved the pain,
And when I spoke
There wasn’t angst
In what I said.
There, beyond the weekdays,
Where it’s all but measured up,
Not a word but graceful madness
For the moment so long gone.

#Melbourne #Australia

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