daily travails
a word to the wise
an eye on the prize
and a pocketful of lies
a punctured lung sighs
hold him under the water
a puncture kit and a desire to baptise
all of the things you oughtta
not be thinking
that will drive you to drinking
and sinking a few more than you should
and a few more than you would
in normal circumstances
all these circular dances
like choreographed logic which will fall apart
when a thing decides to fall apart
entropy like the opposite of building
a grave filled in
daily dismantle embraced
eventually all erased