poetry

the minutes

my days are long
my nights are short
shorter than
a simple centimetre
an eyebrow of an inch
because only the strong
can be measured
in this world

first world dilemmas
draw us like
the slow arm of coffee
that pulls us through
the jaded streets (so we can)
stick our zinc teeth into the
last dying doughnut
our sugary eyes glitter
our hands fidget
our minds flounder through
hard carbohydrates
and
the giggle of lose change
in our pockets

some days we’ll forget
the mess on the streets
the flurry of faces
the awkward egos
we’ll breath deep into
our cappuccino and say
– Ah, I may get some rest today.

PhilosopherPoet
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