These matroyshka days,
they don’t progress
but nest one within another,
like waking dreams
or dreams of waking—
And just like that
it’s morning, again,
in this, some city,
unlike others, but also
mostly the same,
a dawn, a limbo,
drinking coffee
and trying
to name things—
this is a Thursday,
and this is my home.
OPTIONAL POETRY 
Matryoshka days! How witty a way to put it.
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I have to admit I was mostly inspired by seeing these pop up on my feed:
http://contemplation.in/2015/04/11/matryoshka-doll-with-a-portrait-of-your-selection/
🙂
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Deeply satisfying word to say ‘maytroshka’ deliciously moreish, even if the day described seems to be an exercise in repilcated inertia! Been there, totally!
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