What Choice Is There

Your days are all your days
To get through—once you don’t,
They’ll all stop. You’ll get through

This one fine, that one hurt,
Some of them sad. You’ll get
Through them, sleep, and wake up,

If you’ve slept at all, you
In your own skull once more,
You and the myth of you,

In a new world, new world
Whose ghosts look like the ghosts
You slept through. You’ll get through.