Mantra

I wake heavily -- 5:09
-- and sigh
somewhere deep inside.
51 more minutes
before the alarm beep-beep-beeps
the day to life.

I wish I would just die.

The thought -- though hardly
rare -- startles in its
abrupt lack of context.
On the verge of leaden sleep,
I watch the clock --
51 minutes --
as it repeats itself:
a mantra of the fog
I later find
enshrouding the fields
on the drive to work.