Poem #2,721 | This habit is eroded
This habit is eroded by hours
of disease-creep apathy – will
a less able thing – I’ll greet all
loud deadlines with muffling
attempts to start earlier – this
illness is not too easily drawn
with my shaded symptoms a
distorted line of unique ways
to draw my face – There are a
billion seconds of decline left
[my maths a guess] – I work a
fixed hourly rate – millionaire
in time – others’ sine qua non
[to make them look so good]
& I will lift my hands to cajole
from my slow wrists paid arts
[I will briefly deny my acedia]