Force of Habit

A Comfortable Captive Makes a Practice of Resistance

I am a creature of my own imprint;

my survival hinges on the loop,

morning coffee, morning run.

Shake things up

the popular wisdom

as if unknown tempts instead of terrifies.

I cling to my backyard,

my sunrise, moonset,

my favorite brand of almond milk,

courting vicarious calamity on Netflix.

Experts tell me, of course, this is no way to live,

and of course they are right.

It is work to open, yet

I unstick myself over and over and over

tired barnacle, weary oyster,

my detaching a routine that, thus far,

eludes ease,

a free fall

in search of a falling free.