Inertia

Each morning

About seven o’clock

I forget everything I ever learned

To arise

will be impossible, I think

And eating

is far too much trouble

Dressing? I am not sure

that I know how

Facing the world? Too much,

too much to ask

Inertia

The tendency for objects to stay in their current state

When I move, indeed

I find it difficult to cease,

and at rest I jealously grasp this peace

To move forward requires trust

In something beyond this moment

beyond myself

Why does anyone get up in the morning?