track 3

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.