POEM: The Mazy Days of Plague-time [PoMo Day 27 – Rondeau Quatrain]

With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are dull and purposeless.
My stops and starts are glum and purposeless.
With mazy motion, I stagger through my days.

Earth 's circled sun since last I was unfazed,
but I can't say what has encircled us.
With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are sour and purposeless.

My life before seems like a febrile craze.
How goes the flow of time? It's merciless,
but leaves slim chunks of time for nervousness -- 
too staccato a rhythm for a true malaise. 

With mazy movement, I stagger through my days,
my stops and starts are grim and purposeless.
My stops and starts are dim and purposeless.
With mazy motion, I stagger through my days.

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