All this after hours effort
Nothing more than a blind burrowing
Each line the tip of a drill
Boring right through myself
If I’m honest I’m anxious
Breaking though and finding out
What’s waiting on the other side
Each millimeter of advance
Is a new kind of oddness
That someday I’ll recall
With sad nostalgic fondness.
It’s wearying, all this work.
I take more breaks.
Strangely, it doesn’t hurt.
It gets terribly quiet when I rest.
At this depth, I can’t hear a thing
No audible evidence of breathing
Even thoughts are distant whispers
I start to get a certain feeling
That where I’m heading
Is the same place I came from
I only wonder what happened
To all the dirt