2nd may 2021

Or the day they pink slipped Munro.

Ten hours since morning toast throb

inside head, eyes look without reading

fingers tap and send while sweat pools and

the base of the spine wants to bend to the sky.

Your bed and lover are warm but before the light

rail you wake up. The churn of fear deep in the pit

drives your marble gaze to the screen and you may

say this is your shelter but you know no night because

day never ends and no day because night is forever inside

you ever since Munro from the 18th floor left by the rooftop.

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