sunday walls are dry
and cluttered
white-washed and waking up
I smell the coffee air
the hardwood floors
now soft from the week
the soles of my shoes
are weak
I feel every bit
intensely, and I feel weak
everyone’s quiet
and reading literature
I should be hungry
a cold bagel
I eat it up, literally
10 in the morning
I’m late for the day
but still content
and leaving, the feeling stays
tonight I won’t be spent
tomorrow I won’t be this way
