friday.

friday isn't always my favourite, 

dark days come sometimes

on a friday, gloom

sets scenes from my dreams

to play out in real time, 

a grotesque theatrical

performance. 

in the north

a storm rages,

king tides of the mind

where more than the body

takes a battering. 

slam dunked in the spume

it's a friday struggle 

to remain

upright.

i take an uncertain lover,

fastidious, anxiety ridden

we ride together 

for a time, until

ultimately i grow weary

of his friday idiosyncrasies. 

i leave him with scratches

but no dents.

when the angels sing

i try to reply

in a language foreign,

a language of hope

and redemption. i tell

them the unexpected, 

that fridays make me 

want to go home, and

if only i could find

the right sequence 

of events i'd find

my peace.

i run through my

safe words to comfort me

monday, tuesday

-watch me drop-

wednesday, thursday

-into the next-

                friday.