Monday Night—Under a Lamp(Poem)

I sat down
with a shaved pencil or
pilot pen, I don’t remember much.

Tried ancient music
medieval notes and
modern melodies
to spark my creativity.

Yeah, I even scratched the
dried paint on the wall
like a mad scientist or a
failed philosopher.

The celebrated weather
didn’t cooperate with me,
neither the scrambled eggs.

Words flowed like a
slow fingernail or a snail
between the magnetic north
of productivity
and the magnetic south
of procrastination.

I took some antibiotics
to cure the lazy infection
and some soybeans with
some coffee beans.

Finally I painted the A-6 book
but it was like that flavorless mint
and savory dark chocolate.

Faced with temporary setback
I watched the starry night
and the cosmic juice stirring up
through a telescope.

Yeah, even gazed at a bald eagle,
preying on earthly worms.

I crossed the calendar date
and took the rusted sharpener
to shave the pencil again.

But the blanket crawled up
like a Korean zombie
and put me into sleep
with its cotton-silky-woolly touch.

Thus the end came upon me
on that Monday.

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