Wake up.
The early morning commute.
The day bleeding red.
Cold air, hands in pockets, traffic lights.
Bus stops and building sites.
Morning lectures. Note taking.
Nonsense writing. Senseless living.
Secret smiles, silent dread.
What’s the time? I’ll wait.
The smell of wet pavement.
An approaching siren.
A violent thought and a soft sigh.
The inexplicable urge to laugh.
Think about everything. Do nothing.
Grey on grey with spots of green.
Squeaky chairs. My favourite pen.
His copy of the Communist Manifesto
purchased on Amazon prime.
What convenience, what value!
What irony.
Repetition. The squeaky chair.
Is this supposed to make sense?
Drive home. Eat. Brush teeth.
Write about nothing in particular.
Count to ten. Tell myself I’m doing fine.
Sleep.