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.