the regularness of life

Photo by Sonny Sixteen on Pexels

no matter how many fanciful realities I churn
out at night, the morning still comes, and the ceiling
is ordinary, my limits are ordinary…
there is no spaceship parked out back,
there is no fairy creature to make this man-child fly…
the regularness of life bears down on me
and I gnash my teeth with all the grief
that a sour heart can take…
it’s the abhorrent regularness of all the people
and the brutal ways in which they behave —
how they…