For all the life a night shift takes from a soul:
Sleep deprivation and knowing your earning
a recurring echo of motivation fading hour
afte r h o u r
a f t e r h o u r
a f r h o u r
your love and support
keeps the regrets at the door.
Three selfies in a row: hair up, hair down, knuckles on chin.
I love you so much, forgetting your skin
and all the non- fucking we’ve been up to for months on end
has allowed me to do sit ups and rake hours in,
float on rolling chairs for twelve hours a day
You can structure a poem however you want
say it out loud and it all sounds the same.
Might be avoiding something big
or just enjoy extending the thesaurus entry to
“Miserable existence”
Yes, it was a humbling time, and in some ways
I’m grateful.
When you’re not quite a stranger, and not
really useful
at four o’clock in the morning, sleeping in
the foyer
balancing the chair right, in some ways, a wake
up call.
Interrupting dreams of sleeping beside you and pissing
in the showroom sink.