this rut is new-ish

with twinkly lights in the corner

and warm socks tossed on the floor

I want a bowl of cereal

but count the hours before

I have to have another one…

like breakfast is mandatory

in the midst of the other 18 hours,

no matter the order or

how they’re spread haphazardly over days

6am comes too soon

so I languish and rub my legs together

while morning (mourning?) doves coo

just outside the window

when asked how things are going,

I say “ok” and leave out the recent

reintroduction of dill, reaffirmation of pesto,

and repulsion of coconut –

I don’t judge other kinks

when my own fit between 2-5am