that each one hangs in the sky on its own steady hook by Laura Kochman

I've been waking up at 6am every morning, either to go for a run and or to write. Somehow I never seem to actually sit down to write until about 40 minutes have passed. I've had this problem my whole life—time moves wrongly in the early morning, episodic, feeding the cat and making tea inexplicably separated by ten minutes while I just stood very still. I'm still glad to set aside the time, but I'm not sure if I can sustain this schedule. Mornings are time-weird, lunch breaks I'm even more zombie-like, afternoons are spent sighing and prone, and my eyes start closing around 9:30pm.

In other news, I just loved this poem by Sasha Fletcher. I will be looking for this book.