Lost the day (ye new poem)

Crunchy new content. Mmm, content. Edits may follow. Wanted Thursday to have something on it that was a little bit less of a downer. This counts, n'est-ce pas?

The sun will get here any time
and you're still not in bed:
too tired to spin a decent rhyme
or process what you've read.

Go nosh a stalk of celery,
or brush your stupid teeth.
Go shower 'cause you smell, or see
what's wadded up beneath

that wrinkled rug you call a brain.
It's borne your feet this far.
It makes the naked truth less plain,
and props the door ajar

when nothing else will do the trick
(well, nothing that you own).
You stand there, wishing for a stick;
a simple, solid stone.

But all you've got's a stupid mat,
a fridge that's sparsely filled,
a floor that lies there, cold and flat,
while light brims past the sill

of one broad doorway you can't shut,
and also can't step through.
Don't moan you've lost the day if what
got in your way--was you.