Hurried shoes on patterned linoleum,
While a woman sits listless in her seat,
sating the needs of no one.
My toes tap an impatient rhythm
in time with the tempo of scattered thoughts.
Cirrus judgements with an invisible gavel
babble calls to disorder.
Am I here?
The clocks run slower like in lucid dreams
but my hands remain the same.
Shallow air trapped beneath its cage
beside my heart, the canary in the coal mine.
Fluttered wings beat beneath the chest,
as I wrest the wishbone,
Crossing fingers for the larger half.
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