Again, the face that passes me
With the same care-worn fatigue
His lips are pursed, dark burgundy
His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky
Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared
He and I, we work hard, for a promotion
I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires
Summer steals his memory
woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path
He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee
I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows
The sun catches them, clip their wings
He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles
When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent
I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare
Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat
Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms
He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window
I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 10:06 PM UTC
Again, the face that passes me
With the same care-worn fatigue
His lips are pursed, dark burgundy
His hair flaming maize, his eyes whatever that’s left of the sky
Again, the clock strikes dawn as the stars cleared
He and I, we work hard, for a promotion
I see sparrows playing hopscotch on the electric wires
Summer steals his memory
woods burns out putrid whiteness in his trodden path
He and I, we cut sleep, drink cheap coffee
I see sparrows die skewered, their heads smashed in by the bleached windows
The sun catches them, clip their wings
He and I, sweating like machines in our cubicles
When he comes back to me, his hair singed with crude oil, the clouds are silent
I can’t hear him through the lisp of my nightmare
Hands, hands that typed on keyboards, that tied ropes, that sorted papers, that handled raw meat
Fingers, uncut nails, leaves that sap veins dry in my arms
He, the Icarus I picture outside my office window
I, follow after Dante, as the week descends down to Monday
