on the third floor of a building
i sit at a desk -
it is next to a window
and my chair creaks
ink on paper is a luxury
and so is this silence
i’m ignoring the important
i am reading about violence
and the whispers - are hushed
doors slam down the corridor
clacking keyboards fade into the background
only the lights above us snore
i put my face in my hands
i have shut my eyelids
there is always so much to do
the world’s orbit persists
below me the roads are slow
and the people move - lightly
wet leaves skim their ankles
the air wraps around them tightly
not a patch of blue sky
lethargic blanket of white clouds
a woman drops a single coin
the sound echoes underground
strangers huddle - close together
waiting for the lights
someone stumbles over the footpath
someone kisses a love goodbye
soothing tired eyes with coffee
they all shuffle - in solidarity
shoving shivering hands in pockets
headphones separating each person’s symphony
and here we sit -
on the third floor of a building -
at a desk next to a window
with creaky chairs
- my glasses are off
and my face cradled in my hands -
we still sit in the middle of the movement
and the constant commotion -
we are sitting and -
we are taking up space
and we are breathing in air -
- not sure what awaits
tomorrow and tomorrow -
time always creeping up on us
demanding our attention - and contribution
announcing its ownership of us -
we are reduced to both debt and lack
meaningless - until we can prove our worth
becoming a hologram human -
with feet shackled to the ground
in a conscious act of resistance
we link our arms - together
watching and waiting - patiently
at the edge of the void -
- we are waiting for the Event
all us so-called time wasters
waiting for the end - to start
searching through the newspapers -
- for an outbreak of the Real -
an impossibility - the unimaginable
a rupture from the metaphorical
no matter how much it seems improbable
our existence is - transcendent
our precarious shoulders shudder
as the devastating dismantles
and the unexpected reality hovers