Box & Hinge
Part 1: BOX
half past noon
coffee with a silver spoon
basked in lightbulb beams
my walls smelling of stale smoke
and regurgitated sentence structures
sun beams crease my dusty curtains
begging to come inside
wait for them to cease
You walked to me like a sobriety test
with a pig yelling at your back
fall leaves crunch and tasers go off
I felt alive with electric bursts
Part 2: HINGE
once there was a child crossing the highway
the cars swerved by nonchalantly
that is how the day approaches
like a relit cigarette
plucked from a public ashtray
