Chore List

Stuck in a dead end.
Death stalks me
           ever closer.

And my stink self still reeks.
           the reek is the
           smell of my own nose.
(only stopping breathing stops the stink)

Lost in the doing,
            my being is undone,
            like half the list
            of this week's chores.
            Chores languishing
            on tomorrow's back order,
            back from embodiment

            into
            falling
            apart.