Endurance.
A cold, harsh, oppressive existence,
where the noise
and the eyes,
in their place and in their time,
of things that you don't recognise,
incite you only to fight or to flight.

What is there for you?
The exhaustive, exclusive outcomes
of a game -
the myriad mundane choices
that chide you with possibilities -
you didn't ask to play.
You can only walk into the sunset
and bow out,
ghost of the present,
homage to the future.

The sun is disappearing quickly.
Will it be too late
to cry "enough!" and crash
against the breast of life,
beat against the ground
with trembling fists and teary eyes.
Enough.

All day, every day,
I balance my head on my neck.