Awaken
the rhythm of dripping faucets
and the twangs of rusty radiators
shedding the moonlight from the
cracked spaces you can hardly reach
your fingers into.
Bent over fiddling with the meter;
shorts over tennis socks and fluffy
slippers. I put on my best coat
over a yellowing t-shirt.
Fingers press the crust back into
my eyes, where it belongs like the
trash I didn’t take out last night.
Descend the stairs, the morning
paper soaks in the salted slush
left behind by the morning rush.
Hush,
how come nobody turns on the
heat in the hallways anymore?
Vapor breath migrates to warmer
beaches, sandy hallways.
They painted the walls warm,
to make it feel like home.
Shut the blinds, cut the corners
of the light with curtains that
curtail the light into greyscale.
You might as well make breakfast
and fill your stomach with orange
and egg whites,
so that you can throw up on the
world with the colours of sunshine.