I work away the hours of the last day of the month. the tedium is an armour or a shell that keeps me safe from thought. I read the headlines and they’re saying more about the rallies than the genocide that prompts them. today they bombed three countries all at once. I watch from my desk as I scan the web for papers I don’t understand. the skies are grey and then they’re not and we have to close the blinds.
on the train home I read rhymes I wrote three years ago. I laugh at my unchanged obsession with what I lack. the reflection in the pathetic poetry is clearer than the monster in the mirror. three years and not an inch of movement. I breathe the same today as then. I’ll have to wake up soon.
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