you are sitting at the window
at room temperature
building dams out of dust that
clung to our shoes.
I am a child with a cigarette
I am drawing poison from the sky.
stop me.
shake me clean.
no?
no
ten years have passed since four pm.
there was a skeleton dream in the works.
and all I wanted was to
be stones on the bluff
somewhere with a view.
but this carpet is a desert and we’re sick
of our feet burning
right?
you are sitting at the window
and I am swelling and shrinking like
waves dying on the shoreline
and our apartment is a cubicle
I’ve always known.
Charlie Mischer, USA
The Social Poet 