these are the days of headaches
of calloused grips from writing out the square root of x, y, a million and ten
and erasing, revising
double-checking with a strung-out mind.
these are the nights of skim-milk dreams
with romance [gone sour]
with magic [tricks and mirrors]
with money [down the drain]
and all hours are the same
[all hours are the same]

and we wake, rinse our hair
paste on faces that say Ready to Learn
and work our fingers
numb and
so
tired

all in the name of wishing
to peel off twenties from the paycheck
and slide [folded neatly in
one thick ***] under the edge of
the carpet for something
sweet.