sentence

many are the days my grief & i
wish to simply curbkick company
lock all the doors draw closed the curtains
keep out as much of the cold as we can
cuddle the past under the doona
as we slide between the covers
to trap ourselves in another world
till all track of time is gleefully lost
only emerging from our paper prison
break the bars of my textual cage
to piss as infrequently as bladderly possible
then rapidly reincarcerating imagination
until the final phrase, the last line leaps
breaks free from the final page
fireworking the final neurons in our brain
before slumbercrawling back into the world
grief wrangled, mollified, appeased for another day