On the worst days, go all out:
the pain yields to ritual
(if you force it hard enough.)
The mind learns what it is taught --
the body is a dumb animal.
(Of course it’s exhausting,
that’s how you know it’s working.)
Hopelessness, too, is a sickness.
So don your body armor
and a white rose in your lapel
and pump a fist at the disinterested sky
and pack down the bad air inside
like so much gunpowder.