Every morning, clumsy hands
spilling coffee on my pants.
Sound of music, cracking eggs.
Differ calls, I never beg.
Out the window, simmered light.
Watching day give up the fight.
Weekday evening, jump on bed.
All the worst songs in your head.
Blanket outside,
ankle on my knee,
thinking.
Rocket shot life,
never stopped to breathe.
Sinking.
What if it’s all made up?
How would we know if we ever gave up?
this is your life chuck johnson 