I am held over from yesterday
waiting for a moment – only a moment –
to slip back into place
and rest where I now am.

But the moment never comes to me
and I run on forward, by force – not by choice –
so backward a I cannot see.

I swore last night
that I would forget it
for the seventieth time this month,
but it’s still holding on to me
like the snake with a mouse in it’s grip.

So headfirst, I go, with memories
down through the neck
into the belly, where the hunger is;
down to where I’ll find my breath.

Tomorrow, I’ll come up better, I suppose,
and stronger than the rest,
if only I would swallow yesterday
and live through the present tense.