I am composer of the minimal.
I celebrate what others overlook.
I am companion to the small and real.

That could be the start of a sonnet.
A pleasing theme! I would expound upon it
by naming and describing small real things.

But I just don't have the bandwidth nowadays:

an outsized butterfly with leaden wings.

I'm finding life too heavy, much too burdened:
my dragging body, curelessly sleepstarved;
my organs aging toward their certain end.

Strong coffee can't stir up my sluggish nerves ---

and soon, who knows how soon, will come the sleep
from which no bright alarm will wake me up.