Rounding the corner
Walking from the house
I'm thinking of my work day
Thinking what to say
Back through the woods
Smiling at the horse
Up through the copse
Strutting through the coarse
Down the busy road
Cars start to toot
Home beckons soon
Ending my fake commute
Inspired by the 'fake commute' story from the Guardian.co.uk where people are walking are taking a false drive in the morning as they miss their commute to work. It's interesting how we hang on to habits.
the endless construction of the industrial landscape
of jersey barriers & orange cones and workers with coffees
& expensive work & gear
police stand by...
morning rush across Flatbush
train tracks back to back
an empty seat, spilt coffee, sweet
locking eyes with strangers, sighs
day after day, mind wanders away
talking to spirits, only response from crickets
think of you in that old shop, tell my mind to stop
wonder if you ever think of me, in those ugly black jeans
same train tracks, different soundtrack
My morning commute, what's yours? Where do you work?
we take the same train everyday
I don’t know your name nor where you come from
what a joy is to see your face once more before we part ways again
but the moment the train moves
the rumble of my heart lead the way
stead fast, the scenery of steeping in Front of emotion
track after track
winding and twisting with nothing to block the way
the express route to desire
your astonishing beauty
Is my favorite stop
love at first sight
I wish I could've told you how I felt
I wish I could've held your hands
before alighting the train
surrounded by people yet feeling alone
what have I done?
the world’s greatest game
is when you miss the stop
but you won’t feel the shame
le petite mort on replay
and for her bottom I was the perfect top
who’s there to blame ? ￼⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
There's a sigalert
on the conveyor belt,
now we'll all be late for work.
How can anything
I spend half my life on
Little by little
I'm moving away from me.
They're adding a fast lane.
No solution there,
just ******* in more butane.
The platform is quiet when I arrive.
The walk home is long.
The road is busy with lights, but no faces.
I should have worn gloves.
Nearly there now.
Someone's home but nobody was waiting.
I pull a smile out my pocket and drop my keys,
Then I listen to words about the day.
My bed brings solitude,
While questions crawl behind my eyes.
Scraping inside my skull, they're familiar,
And I drift off on their backs.
So many little ***** hands reaching out
for an empty watering can.
The pipe always seems to be closer
than it looks.
I shut my eyes tight sometimes and
let my fingers find a rhythm
or lose myself to the whirr.
I forget to meditate, or write things down,
I browse IG, fall into pattern of searching
for familiar names.
I find deals online and shop away the panic
Settling in, it’s replaced with commercial
anticipation- instant gratification-
Jesus ******* Christ I can’t even type
with my headphones on,
this car is always the obnoxious one
I never learn.
It’s the closest to the stairwell but I guess
I always hope that people would consider
That roosters haven’t even crowed yet
And maybe whisper?