Here I sit,
Who knows how for long.
Something rises.
A shadow beat in percussion.
Glass stares inquisitive.
Who cares what it sees.
Here, now,
Just like always he’s
further
pulling circles – looking down.
going faster.
Slide this misty window
down, to crawl right from this
decadence
This car’s on fire, I’ll walk
I’m sick of this.