In the canon
Aubade
- Form
- Form Poem
- Year
- Year 1977
- Pages
- Pages 1
A man wakes at four in the morning to the plain fact of his own death, tries every consolation ever offered, watches none of them work, and gets up as the office day begins.
I work all day, and get half-drunk at night. Waking at four to soundless dark, I stare.
The blurb, the gist, the why of the day and the work itself are in the app. The first button needs it on this device; the second gets it there.