Some days are too brutal, even for poems.
Words and rhymes are smashed apart
before they even get out of bed,
and by 9am those days have
bludgeoned the foolish heart
who dared to utter such dreams.
They crush all rhythm and stifle songs
and shred paintings into hideous splotches
a dog wouldn’t bother to pee on.
They drain the sky and erase the landscape
and throw sand in the eye of the beholder.
Some days hang shadows over the sun
and black out all the lampshades,
and then drag out every ugly minute
you’ve ever lived
and force you to re-live them all
alone there in the dark.
They remind you of your imperfect self
and how far you’ve fallen from grace,
as they toss your ladder into the lake.