Most days I wake up,
Knowing I have to spend the day at work.
On these days,
I always wake before the sound of the alarm.
My conscious stirs in my sleep
And uncoils the awareness,
The hindrance of another day
In someone else’s pocket.
We wake like this.
The weary souls of the world
Shuddering in the skins
Of a society feigning the go-get-em attitude.
Tagged with invisible numbers
And filed through a holographic day
At the office,
Behind the counter,
Under the fake-white flouros
That ping and fizz
Like our compliance,
Growing flat in the hours of the day,
Like grey lemonade
in offwhite sunlight.
I wake up again.
My phone is in another room.
I don’t need it.
Two dogs,
one old,
one new
Scratch the back door.
I put on my shoes,
Stuff dog shit bags in my pocket
Flick my radio’s switch
And walk out the door,
Leaving the sound of German classical music
To play for dead blowflies,
Bent umbrellas,
And linoleum.
How to Remove Gravy Stains 
That’s pretty damned brilliant, my friend. –Paul
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Thanks man. I’ve been doing so much academic writing for school, I’ve had to treat myself to some more personal output.
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Same here. Well, you really nailed it with this one! –Paul
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