The day’s
doldrums drone
on from dawn until
dusk and the mucky muck
lurks.

An insidious thing
the mucky muck,
pulling life out,
removing all
motivation for movement
as the spirit tries to escape
a maze never seemingly meant
to be solved.

With a thrum, thrum
insistence to be heard, the mucky muck lurks
skulking deep,
latched on like a
fat tick needing
to be pulled out,
cut out, or burned!

Mucky muck leave me be
For I swear, with
sword in hand
I will cut thee

And I will see you bleed, bleed, bleed

even ever as my blood

leaves me, running in rivulets

down and dripping off

the cufflinks of my sleeves

You then mucky muck will finally surely

be free of me.

by Philip Wardlow March 27th, 2023