day of sweat and dismay at the choices of yesterday the silence piles around me as I survey my own wreckage 'shoulds' are rife, burgeoning, procreating like rabbits but things one hopes for can only be gained by hard work and toeing the line my own selvedge is written-on with my secret name, my name of pain and sorrows, my name of grit there is no unfacing it - I could have done better. all I can do is try againnext poem