the measure of a life

my life
is measured by the time that passes
in two week chunks
marked by hope
and a frenzy of fucking
and more hope
only to be followed by
bitter disappointment.

except when it isn't
and then,
the measure is
two days
that feel like
two years
and always, always,
the bitter disappointment
surrounds me like a hug from hell.

just once
I'd like to measure
my life
in a forty week chunk,
and give
birth
to my baby
not death.