Spiral (write or life)

The clock hit nine
twenty three,
I've been riding
on one of those l-
  o-
    n-
       g days, you know,
when there's not even enough time to piss
and my hair's tangled,
and don't ask about my face.

I join forces with the pan
and stove
and pasta
as it's all I seem to eat these days;
not that I wouldn't like something else,
there's just not time to worry on it.

As for new tricks, I've been playing solitaire too much,
sitting too much,
cleaning too often.
I can't force inspiration, kids. None of us can

and I'm sitting here
telling you about pasta.
I think it's time to
go.