off the train I join the current into the belly of the station. the procession is somber and swift. in silence we all move as one: the same pace and purpose without a single word. every one of us is loved and loathed and wishes things were different. on the platform there are pigeons and tired and empty faces. in the bathroom mirror I am somewhere in between.
at my desk I tend to tasks I don’t quite understand. the day is heavy heat without a glimpse of sun. the faithful coward is an empty page fit for filling in. he thinks about the end of days and his taxes funding genocide. he writes about himself instead.
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