beds and desks

in and out of making sense of steps I need to take to build a home. there’s a room with my name and no furniture yet. I tend to tasks and look for beds and desks to dream on. sounds of songs I used to know keep me fragile in the limbo between end and beginning. crying in the face of uncertainty I cling to for escape from this gradual decay; from dreams to dust to afterthoughts.

news rolls every morning; they broke the ceasefire and martyred half a thousand overnight. children and their parents seeking refuge in a school. I brush my teeth and go to bed to sleep through what comes next.