The commute


The rug was being pulled away,
roads and rivers slipping back in time.
The sphere moved one way and the sky the other.

Crossing time zones is easier with senses dulled.

An androgynous waiter delivered tiny drinks.
“four please? it’ll save you time”
somewhere in the hollow a child screamed,
in his shallow frontal lobe a prisoner screamed.

Through tunneled cloud and emptiness, ever onward.
His destination reeling him in with dreams,
an old girlfriend with a placard and his name in lipstick,
standing under an arrivals sign, not recognizing him.

On the street and spat out, passport stamped.
Rows of yellow cabs and smiling thieves, hands out-stretched.
Pick one, any one, you’ll do,
the thrum of forced air now leaving his head.

In hotel room blandness his world returned to peace,
flick the channel, find the porn, order booze, set alarm.
Wake up, put on crisp white shirt.
Decompose in full view, but do it slowly in an English way,

another day


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