My friend, Monday

Life is like black tea
A whirlwind in white routines.
With honey, my friend.
Albeit rancid in heat
and rooms lit with the workday.

Letterhead gone blank.
Salutations sleeping, shy.
Oh, Ferris, he schemes
with a class I can’t capture
as I reel with meetings’ blur.

I hate electrics,
and water – dreary sewage.
One clips, Two swallows
the urge to bury deeper,
reaching towards my nightstand.

Imbeciles will crowd
and waves of bad music scream
like I do at eight.
Fabrication, I will try.
You laugh as I leave your floor.

Attitudinal
with sentimental longing
for simplicities
and movies I always miss
to often enjoy again.