TFU

Labor this way, though its uselessness
Already understood.
The brain and her tendencies
These patterns contribute to unrest.
What morning on which horizon
Can a disruption form?
This trusted crust enslaving me
Powerful- conditional- undermining.

Goop skims this surface
Gulping down aged garbage
Still a meal that I arrange.
Tacked on... to my tended to life
And grown in with roots that run deep.

I cannot say that I want anything
With this wide belt of 'shut up'
Strapping my back, my brains, my body.
This Monday offers me choices
The disposition I'm in keeps me fat on the sadness
Of broken branches
And traumatic brain injuries.

I need nothing, perhaps
But an ounce of an ass-kicking
To shut me TFU.