afternoon pages fly through my hands, and i nod off at the sentiments of
sagely predictable great men who have passed away or died beyond the ruddy glow of
memory's recall.
shame and its never ending friends fogging their glass windows again
forcefully gliding fingers over the same cheery piano refrain
and i smile slightly and tap my pencil across my cheek
until it stings a bit to let me know that i am
still awake despite the stubborn furnace blowing paces through the room
shuffling like angry senile veterans of various great industrial ages
insisting on their eternal relevance to dispassionate crowds
choking back smoke and laughter
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