So muh to do in just a needletip of time
and why cuz I have to
have to work and stay focused on the clock
pen moving back and forh
notes to self, see if I ever check them again
and again, but wait is it dinner time?
doesn’t matter cuz I can’t eat, this is a show,
a repeat, no treat, just a retreat
poems haunting me like some
random café song. joust with
my senses and inhibitions and life and res
ponsibilities — staves of a barrel on a seat, i
sit and drink the merlot but it
feels wrong, singing and calling from the
train and its tracks, remind.