it’s windy I think
at least the windows are rattling

the men in hard hats
yellow motes in the distance
and their jackets the colour
of poison

they scale the façade
of the contralateral building

they’re speaking, yelling,
probably catcalling, singing
their ugly songs on cherry pickers
like some crowned nest
of wagtails

it’s early I think
though the lights are always on

they’re fluorescent, staining
unflattering colouration – rinse
your skin to poverty
to jaundice

I’m here because of pills
I’m here because school is out
I’m here because I’m tired
and I’m tired because of you

flowers sit at the side
already dry upon purchase

gifted awkwardly:
“can we give flowers to a man?”
“a foolish drunk”
“a boy in sheets”
“here’s a helium balloon
to lift your spirits”
“don’t look when it sags to the floor”
“you know that he will”

it’s lonely I think
though it’s filled with people

wristcutter, lupus, chemo,
we’re what’s left post-production
“buy me for half price
or at least half an hour of company”

nurses scan with motherly eyes
radiator warmth - at twelve to three
she washes me, asks me to lift my *****
to get at the two-day grime
of indolence

it’s sad here I think
at least the television is boring

daytime ghosts and broken families
make my bed-sheets gain weight
until nothing is mine

sleep comes in fits
and starts in blindness

it ends with my questioning
of where the dream began
and where reality failed

you haven’t come
I knew that you wouldn’t

it’s hard to blame you
what with my post-use pining
long after you’d given up
the way I act familiar
after treating you like a stranger

I long to leave here
so much that the windows are rattling

I’m here because I am
I’m here because of my job
I’m here because I’m tired
and I’m tired because of you