Inertia Creeps

Dulled by autumnal melancholy, I pause:
Inertia creeps over me, like fog. The sky is
Leaden, the drizzle-haze the sand-man's clasp.
The quiet blanket of the air, still, damp,
And lit by lamps, echoes to distant traffic.
I want to curl up in this grey tide,
Washing me clear, blank and true,
To sleep in the oblivion of a dull calm sea.

I slowly wake sometime after sunset. Another day
In this frozen winter holiday. Another joint,
And I soon become a solitary ship, alone, adrift,
And rudderless. The bustling clatter of the postman
Frightens me. Forever indoors, dark days drift
A warm coccoon filled with food, familiar films,
Comfortable clothes, music and marijuana
I have dulled the throb of my existence.

But in a dawning February day,
The air crisp with cold, my breath steaming
With life, I emerge, blinking into the light,
The glistening frost of morning. It is all-quiet,
But the zest of the icy-blue air
Thrills through me like a mountain-stream
Tumbling clownishly down into burns,
Then rivers, swelling, towards the sea.