My sieve-ish brain fails to hold
the flow of words that burst mid-morn.
Perhaps for the repetitive nature
or days mundane
perchance a savage exhaustion,
It lies beaten,
in a slumber broken by none but sleep.
Yet peevish I sit stubborn in bath
unwilling for mind to have its way.
The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2022. Day 16.
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