Choices given, decisions made,
the bird attacks, plans are laid.
Drain the water, spray the ground,
seal the windows.
Stop trying to rhyme, that is my weakness.
My bane, too much pressure right now.
A day behind, until I catch up,
another day goes, two in a row.
What does anyone think about
in the little death of night?
The past, painful as it was,
the present, beautiful and true,
the future, unpredictable.
What does anyone think about,
in the zoning of the eyes,
in the track
of a hand on the seam?
What do you think?
It’s been a long day,
yet there’s nothing to say.
We’re all a bit more blue than before.
Is this how other people live?