An outlet, sticky battlefront of crumbs. 

I’ve been staring into space for — 

Sorry, what? No, absolutely.

No, it’s fine, no ones sitting—

No problem. 

Have I read a single word? Or,

Just silently bored holes into the negative spaces that make up the letters

On the page-

Screen-

Screen-page.

I think the later, re: the letters. Hah.

My phone tempts me with an anxious cry. 

Oooh, an email? Who from?

Ah. 

What would happen if I hit reply anyway, @donotreply

Would I be in deep shit?

With your email service?

Let’s find out. 

Or not.

We could just

Not. 

But what a waste of an hour, a whole wasted hour of our increasingly limited — no, don’t go there.

Dangerous existentialism : coffee ratio. 

I push my glasses up my face to further chafe the bridge of my nose.

Nose bridge.

Bridge of noses.

Forty-seven minutes gone. 

No use starting something now. 

Yes, what a waste of an hour.

Were you really even an hour?

Or just a dream?

An oxymoron of rest, abandoning me right as I’ve settled in. 

Leaving me with nothing but neck pain,

a throbbing hunk of meat flesh inside a cavernous skull,

And one fewer hours to waste. 

A writing.

Knit Allegory

I haven’t been wearing your sweaters.

They’re hanging

On the back of my door

It isn’t warm or anything,

Frost on windowsills and I’m cold.

 

You forgot them there on purpose. Sleeves pre-rolled up, for me

Little woven soldiers on plastic coat hooks

And I really am fucking cold.

 

 

I thought I’d tell you now

Since I guess I don’t know when I’ll have a better time

That I looked up from reading

At the half-man shadows they cast –

Asymmetrical and impotent.

Shuddered at their expectancy

and noticed

I’m wearing all my own clothes.