This Bluish Morgue (2) Poem by Margaret Alice Second

Keep walking through bones clacking
in my leg while dry legal phrases have
me hacking at wayward tufts of my hair
which resemble the infamous Donald
Trump coif, after taking ergotamine for
the migraine that kept me insomniac last
night & risking gangrene should vaso-
constriction in my head continue unto
fingers, toes and legs; I'm flummoxed

By things like adversary proceedings;
declaring nothing to report in my sad
self-assessment makes for absence of
existential justification to anchor me to
the world while slowly drifting in a sea
of rising and ebbing depression; my only
certainty is that the hacked-off hairstyle
reminds of a convict lifestyle as befits
a hapless civil servant like me yearning

For the ability to feel enthusiasm and
passion for something - clinging to the
symbolism of the rising sun converting
this bluish morgue of an office block
into a golden promise for tomorrow…