Wake up,
and follow the rut downstairs.
Check the wall
of broken clocks,
and go to your favorite haunt
when the time is right.
It’s an acquired taste,
repeatedly smashing your head
into a brick wall,
but eventually you see
what the hubbub
was all about.
But you grow weary
in a moment of clarity,
and decide to spice things up.
You always do this.
Locals gather at the watering hole.
You take a big swig,
notes of minerals, calcium
and chlorine.
The bartender cuts you off
after 9 glasses
and an hour and a half
in the bathroom.
You spend half the night pacing,
reflecting on what you would have
done differently.
Wake up,
and follow the rut
downstairs.
The File Pile 