patterns

the body wakes to work

and works to sleep and wake again

pressing buttons through the day for pay

and saving up for hell

loyalty is sworn

to the creed of my routine

hopes are dropped for cheques and balances

off the streets and on the screen

pressing the right buttons

I can build a home in spreadsheets

far from any fear of thinking

of the people I could be

sucking the thumbs of the machine

that pats my back

doing nothing for the world I used to want

forgetting care

or hope for change

protected from compassion for the people on my phone

numb to worry and the war

and every fight that isn’t mine

from the subway to the West Bank

wash my hands and lock the door

fill the fridge with shit to eat

I eat the shit so I can breathe

smell the traces of potential on the time I still have left

count the days until the weekend

like the weekend is enough

to warrant more

another week

of empty tasks and other stuff

I sit on the bed with regret

we toast to ourselves

and to more life tomorrow

a cocktail of neglected dreams

and tablets I can’t swallow

crushed to powder by routine

a plague that cradles me to sleep

I spill the glass of what I wanted

through the boards of what I have

use my claws

and try to snort

the grains of glitter on the floor

diluted by the sweat of tasks performed for the machine

still they glisten

between pages and buttons and under my nails

dimming but still bright enough

to pull me to my knees

and back to work

to sleep and wake again

in baseless hope of change

that tomorrow could be different

if I try a little harder

only work a little more

I could creep out of the shadow

of the hopes I cannot reach

and the dreams I cannot swallow

so I wake to work again

wash myself and board the train

work to work for more tomorrow

leave my thinking at the door

I shed my skin

and I’m the same

I will do as I am asked

there is nothing to explain

press the buttons

say the words and send regards

wait for orders

circle back

smile at authorised decisions

work to make yourself a winner

not the junky with an itch

for spoiling every chance he’s given.