Habit

The lullaby of repetition lulls
the mind into comfortable routine
where the drone of the humdrum singsong dulls
the senses in a rhythmic sameness mien.

To eat, to breathe, to sleep, to defecate,
the perpetual rise and fall of sex,
are all, no doubt, traits we can’t relegate
since they wear the habit of nature’s lex,

but the body’s just tyranny needn’t
dictate to an impressionable mind
that the gift of choice is not most piquant
for all who wish life’s substance to be mined.

The salmon leap against the river’s flow
is the sole defiance I wish to know.