“The value of the myth is that it takes all the things we know and restores to them the rich significance which has been hidden by ‘the veil of familiarity.’” -C.S. Lewis

I set my alarm and tug the blankets to my nose.
Tomorrow, I’ll be Sisyphus again, minus the biceps.

Before I knew the world was gray areas on repeat,  
I stayed awake to catch each new thing—

The world was strong, yet malleable: say  
thank you, share a snack, feel bright like the sun.

If I fall asleep now, I’ll have six hours.

Then I’ll broil my eyes in blue light and finish
The lunch meat on a sandwich with mayonnaise.

I’d state my claim to devouring life’s novelty,
Amalgamating yesterdays with tomorrows,

But the Same-old grips the days and brakes
Them. But maybe—I’ll leave morning me a memo—

Maybe Prometheus would bring the fire again.