hard facade
soft edges
blurred depressions
precipitous slopes
fragile points of origin
no shape
a heavy space
dappling of light
eyes a fusion into the mind
a focus approaches
my forehead meets my finger tips
thumbs caress my ears
nose peeks out for air
tension builds across my neck
the day is bestirring
a haunting commences
the stirring street clamours
my feet embrace the floor
the bathroom draws me near
the bus door shushes close
my hand finds a bar to hold
an unanswered welcoming smile in the crowd
the window fog of mortal breath
ting, my inescapable stop
my watch prompts me to toil
the briefcase opens amongst discarded papers
lunch makes it to the drawer
password…. needs changing
emails overflow the inbox
an empty outbox
unpaid demands
crossed out scribbles
a match of a pencil
smell of an unlaundered shirt
the clamour of the phone
a deadline agreed
the digital clock hoots in red at my predicament
the editor hot, the ink is cold
lame excuses unworthy of air
time to recant
elbows take my weight as I bow
pray-full fingers encamp on my face
eyelids close
here a place for shapes of my imagination
Pressures of work and being productive are not always easy. Some recompense can be found behind the position of Rodins Thinker, in reality it is often with two hands to cover the face to escape rather than be a thinker
