Ordinary Tuesday
Am I one more wandering schizophrenic,
hallucinating in a concrete desert? Nothing
green grows here, not without maximal
intervention. My weekdays pass, Tuesday,
Thursday, Friday, in the domain of finance,
waterlogged without a living, shielding veil.
The coin of this club is found in bright lights,
moving digits, crawling on a screen.
My fancy dances in a confined space,
enclosed by fabric stretched over metal.
I can hear my neighbor's respiration.
It's agony to count as they sniffle and sigh.
We are so near while sad and sodden in silos.