dying of work;
dying
with nails in my back.
I crawl
the coast road
dragging a tail behind me. the sun
is a hot golf ball
striking the neck
with endless
accuracy
and the wind comes in
low as a razor
and cuts.
the world is phone-calls,
hassle
and emails I don’t want to deal with.
unhappy girlfriends,
burnt
and tasteless carrots, life,
a piece of paper
headed “things to do today,”
pinned to the fridge
and running down obligations.
I lie on my belly
all afternoon, listening
to people at the window
tapping to visit me. I play cards
by myself, measure time,
walk through rooms
and look around
like a wolf at the zoo.
Grey Sparrow Journal 