Rinse and Repeat

JL might’ve been the walrus,
but me,
I’m the groundhog.
same damn day,
every damn time,
waking to the grind of a clock
that doesn’t care I’m tired.

the weather moves,
but I don’t.
months slap the calendar,
but it’s all the same—
cigarettes and cracked mugs,
shadows stretched thin
over yesterday’s junk.

the grave’s outback,
dirt piled neat,
quiet,
patient.
one day, I’ll skip the show,
leave my shadow behind,
and the earth will
swallow me whole,
like it always meant to.